


Undercover With The Winchesters

by ToscaRossetti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - High School, Ash (Supernatural) - Freeform, Bobby SInger - Freeform, Computers, Corporal Punishment, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Crying, Daddy!Sam (sortof), Dating, Demerits, Detention, Discipline, Dream Sequence, Family, Gen, Ghosts, Gossip, Grounding, Hex Bags, Homework, Hunting, I love that that's a tag that I made, Library, Magic, Non-Consensual Spanking, Original Characters - Freeform, Paddling, Professor Dean Winchester, Professor Sam Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Medium, Reader-Insert, School Dances, School Uniforms, Small town intrigue, Spanking, Spanking with a hairbrush, Spells & Enchantments, Tarot Readings, Teachers, Uncle!Dean(sortof), Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Undercover, Winchesters Acting Parental, Witchcraft, Witches, You are playing the part of a teen-ager, black magic, corner time, friendships, grimoire, new age shop, relationships, schoolgirl, slumber parties, spanking in the back of the Impala, spanking with a belt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti
Summary: Mysterious killings are happening in a small town, and it looks to be witch-craft. There's a private all-girls school in the town, and rumors are flying that there's a coven there. You're a hunter that's been working with the Winchesters for a while now, and the three of you decide to go undercover at the school. There are a couple of catches, though- Sam and Dean will be going as teachers, and you will be going as a student...and the school allows corporal punishment!





	1. Learning the Ropes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Dear Ones! If you read my fic 'Supernatural Discipline Imagines', you'll recognize part of this chapter from chapter 9. This multi-chapter story goes with the O/C in 'Supernatural Discipline Imagines' and her relationships with the Winchesters in those one-shots, and takes place after chapter 6, 'Aftermath and Apology'.  
> The idea was given to me by Mindy-thanks babe! I hope y' all enjoy it!
> 
> This is a spankfic, which means that there will be spanking in this story. This is a fantasy that takes place in an AU. The OC and the Winchesters are all consenting adults. There will be non-con spanking and paddling in this story, as well as other punishments, so if that's not your thing, hit the back button now and go in peace.  
> ***************

~ ~ THE THREE CORNERS GAZETTE ~ ~

Couple Found Brutally Murdered in Their Home

An elderly couple in the Northeast neighborhood of Fox Hall Estates was found in their home by a neighbor who had gone to pick up her friend for bridge club. It appears that the couple's hearts were removed. This is the fourth such murder in the tri-state area in a 4 week period of time. It appears that there was forced entry into the home-- Residents are asked to take precautions and make sure doors are locked and outdoor secuirty lights are on. 

**More vandalism: Occult symbols were found on the outside wall of St. Anne's Church, similar to the ones that have been found in recent weeks. Signs point to teenage vandalism.

DEATHS:  
Mrs. Lauretta McTavish, a resident of the Happy Hearth Retirement Home, passed away in a freak accident last night. There will be a service held in her honor at St. Matthew's Parish in one week.

Mr. Cyrus Johnson, a retired teacher, passed away after a fall down his basement stairs. He was elderly and in good health-- foul play is not suspected. His family asks that in lieu of flowers, you donate to your local teacher's union. 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The guys came back with news for you. This was something big, an investigation that was going to potentially go on for a few weeks. They had spent time with Bobby working on getting fake paperwork made up and searching out books that they'd need to bring with them. Both Sam and Dean were buzzing with excited energy as they showed you newspaper clippings and the local community website. There was no time to bring up what Dean had said to you before they'd left. 

“Do I really have to wear this?” You turn around, looking in the full-length mirror at the school uniform that you're wearing- a white button down blouse with a little plaid tie, a short blue and gray plaid skirt, and light gray knee socks. Sam had ordered it online a day or so ago.

“Ohh my God,” Dean is staring at you in shock.

“What?” you ask defensively. Do you look ridiculous? 

“You just—uhh, you look, um, well, you look...hot,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, and you laugh, because The Big Bad-ass Hunter Dean Winchester is blushing a little bit! 

“You're into the school-girl thing?” you tease, twitching your hips. 

“Ye—well, no, I mean, that makes me feel like a skeevy old guy, y'know, it's not...not like that, not, y'know, an actual school-girl. Just...you...” he holds his hand up and gestures at you, “You, in that short little skirt and that tight blouse--” 

You feel yourself blushing. Dean's never commented on your appearance, and it makes you feel good.

“You like what you see?” you strike a pose, thrusting your chest out and tilting your hips, and Sam scoffs and shakes his head. 

“Well, yeah, I mean, you're usually wearing, y'know, typical hunter gear, t-shirt and flannel and jeans, and that doesn't exactly show off...what you got,” Dean gestures at you again, looking a little embarrassed.

“Oh. Well...thank you!” you grin at him and sashay away from him and then spin around in a circle.

“Well, if we can get back to the plan,” Sam clears his throat, “We're going to be undercover, all three of us. Dean and I are going as teachers, and you'll be going as a student.”

“What? Me? Why do I have to be a student?” you protest.

“Because, y/n, it's an all-girls school, and you can look young enough to blend in. And we need someone with the adults and someone on the inside, with the girls, and that way, Sam and I can be figuring out if it's an adult group, and you can be infiltrating the girl's clubs and see if any of them are doing anything with the occult,” Dean explains.

“Well, all right,” you agree. 

“Uh, there's one more thing,” Sam tells you, “You're going to be with one of us...as our daughter.” 

“What?!” you screech, and then you burst out laughing. You skip over to Dean and throw your arms around him. “Ohh, Dean, are you going to be my daddy? Will you be my... 'sugar daddy'?” You laugh, nuzzling his flannel chest.

“All right, all right, calm down,” he says, taking your arms away from his middle, looking even more embarrassed. 

“Ooh, is my 'daddy' going to spank his naughty girl?” you laugh again, and both of them look at each other and shake their heads. 

“Keep that up and you're gonna find out,” Dean says with a growl, but he's teasing you. 

“Well, y/n, we were thinking that it might be better if I was your father. Because I'm taller, and people tend to look smaller with me, people will see us together and assume you're my daughter,” Sam says.

“Okay...Daddy Sam!” you go over to him and put your arms around his waist, “Are you gonna tuck me into bed at night?” you bat your eyes at him. 

“Man, she is having waaay too much fun with this,” Dean says.

“I'm being serious, y/n,” Sam says firmly, “This isn't a joke. These people are killers, and they're doing some pretty serious magic. We're going to need to be on guard at all times. And completely undercover all the time, too.”

“All right,” you put your arms down and stick your lower lip out in a pout. Then you look up at Dean. “That means...you're my 'Uncle Dean'!” you grin at him, “Are you going to be the cool uncle who takes me places and spoils me?” 

“Hmm...we'll see,” Dean says with a smirk, and then he pulls you to him and wraps his arm around your waist, snugging you against him, “Uncle Dean won't hesitate to spank if there's misbehavior,” he says, and he lands a swat on your butt.

“Ow!” you gasp.

“You gonna behave for me?” he asks sternly, but his eyes are twinkling.

You grin up at him, still feeling playful. “Maybe?” you say with a wink.

“Maybe? Maybe I need to show you what Uncle Dean will do,” he growls again, giving you another spank, and then he pinches your rear end and you squeal.

“All right, can you two cut it out?” Sam is shaking his head again. He goes back and sits down at his computer. “It'll take a day or so for all the paperwork to come back, and then you'll have to familiarize yourself with it, y/n. When you're undercover, you can't slip up at all. We should work on a family history together, so that we have things to say if people ask.”

“And we should start getting used to our new roles now, practice, y'know?” Dean smirks at you, “Come sit on your Uncle Dean's lap, y/n,” he sits down and pats his thigh. 

“Guys, come on,” Sam rolls his eyes, “This is serious. She's supposed to be 16, and if you're there making jokes and pawing at her it's going to look really weird.”

“Geez, Sam, chill out, I'm not gonna do this stuff in public. In private, it's all fair game.” 

You walk over to Dean and perch on his knee, and he puts his hand on your back. “We'll do what needs to be done, to keep y/n safe, and all of us.”

Over the next couple of days you work on getting into your role. You trim some bangs into the front of your hair- they make you look younger- and spend time online looking at the newest teen trends and make-up looks. You drive to the local mall and pick up some new make-up, hair accessories, and clothing to complete the image of a 16-year-old private school student. 

When you appear in the kitchen for dinner that night, both guys raise their eyebrows at you. You're wearing a blouse that hangs off the shoulders and a tight mini-skirt, your hair swept up in a messy ponytail, and glossy lipstick. 

“Um...wow,” Dean comments. 

“What's all this?” Sam asks.

“Just getting into my role, you know...Dad,” you say with a little smirk. 

“Uhh...well, um...really?” Sam asks with discomfort. 

“Yeah, I looked it up, and this is the current style for teen girls,” You perch on one of the stools.

“Well, uh, I don't know if...you know, you don't have to dress in the current fashion.”

“Oh, Sam, come on! What, you want me to dress like Laura Ingalls Wilder in a long one piece dress with a sunbonnet? I mean, uh, Dad?” you look at Sam and then Dean. “You guys are going to have to get used to me dressing differently and wearing makeup and all.”

“Just, uh, don't...don't, y'know, go overboard,” Dean says, looking uncomfortable.

“What does that mean?” you ask.

“Well, y'know, don't...you don't have to look like, y'know, the wrong kind of girl,” Dean looks down at the counter.

“Oh, I get it. Dress like a good girl, don't look like a slut. Well what if I want to? What if I want to play the bad girl? After all, girls can do what they want in this day and age, you know!” you fold your arms over your chest. 

“Well, not if you're going to be working with us. Remember, we're not supposed to bring any extra attention to ourselves. We're going to already be getting attention, due to the fact that we'll be new there, we don't need to make things worse by having you acting out or whatever,” Sam explains.

“So I'm supposed to be 'a good girl'.” 

Sam nods. “Yeah, that would be the best way for you to act. Head down and stay under the radar.”

“But what if it's the 'bad girls' who are the coven? The easy girls who spread their legs for every--”

“All right, all right,” Dean cuts you off, “I think Sam's right, we should all lie low and just fly under the radar. Just three normal, white-bread people from middle America.” 

You huff a sigh. “All right, fine, I'll play a good girl.”

“That's probably the safest route,” Sam says, “and we want you to be safe, y/n.”

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

You thumb through the student handbook and then scrawl your name on the last page and write in the date. You're only half paying attention to what the Principal is saying to Sam and Dean. This meeting is for the “adults” to introduce themselves, you're just along for the ride. You've been filling out paperwork now, so that you don't have to spend time on your first day doing it.

Mrs. Shaw, the Vice-Principal, leans over and taps the handbook. “Don't forget to sign the pages at the end, that have to do with school discipline.”

“Uhh...what?” you rifle through the pages, and your heart drops into your stomach as you read:

DEMERIT LISTING:

LEVEL ONE/ These items will earn the student one demerit:

D1 Homework not done  
D2 Incomplete- not having supplies needed i.e. textbook, or homework not finished  
D3 Going to the restroom without permission  
D4 Arriving late for class/school  
D5 Misbehaving in school  
D6 Wearing civilian clothes in the school during school activities  
D7 Improper uniform  
D8 Having a bad attitude towards teachers, classmates or leaders  
D9 Defiance or disorder during class  
D10 Disrespectful towards staff members  
D11 Destructive behavior during class  
D12 Disobeying instruction  


LEVEL TWO/ These items will earn the student two demerits: 

D13 Not co-operating during class  
D14 Copying homework  
D15 Using foul language  
D16 Stealing  
D17 Lying  
D18 Being absent from detention  
D19 Cheating on a test  


LEVEL THREE/ Three demerits:

D20 Not going to detention  
D21 Going into unauthorized areas of school or grounds  
D22 Cutting class  
D23 Bullying fellow learners  
D24 Unauthorized usage of technology during school hours  
D25 Littering in the school yard  
D26 Selling in the school  
D27 Vandalism  
D28 Possession or smoking and using alcohol or drugs on school premises or in school uniform  
D29 Leaving school premises without permission  


At Level One offenses, the punishments will be as follows:  
-Three level one offenses (3 demerits) in the same class period will result in written lines being assigned, which will have to be completed before the school day is through.  
-If up to three more offenses occur in the same time, detention will be assigned. (up to six demerits)  
-Any offenses after that will result in paddling. (more than six demerits) (In Class)

Level Two offenses:  
-Each offense is punishable by in-school detention during the day. Classwork missed will have to be made up.  
-Two or more offenses occuring during the same class period will result in paddling. (In Class)

Level Three offenses:  
-Student will report to the principal's office for paddling. After-school detention will be assigned for the same day. 

Combined Levels:  
-Any combination of Level One and Level Two offenses equaling 4 or more demerits shall result in paddling in class. Six or more combined demerits shall result in paddling in the Principal's office. 

-Any combination of Level Two and Level Three offenses equaling 6 or more demerits shall result in paddling in the Principal's office.

-Any combination of Level One and Level Three offenses equaling 6 or more demerits shall result in paddling in the Principal's office.

If students rack up 10 demerits in a week, they have a choice to either serve detention for two days or receive a paddling.  
Each week, the demerits will be reset. If a student has repeat issues with certain types of demerits, a meeting will be held with the staff and principal. If there is no resolution, the parents will be called in as well. 

For In-Class paddling, student shall receive no more than three strokes. An administrator must be called to the room to observe.

Student may receive up to 10 strokes of the paddle in the principals' office, depending on the level of offenses and demerits reported. Staff shall be present during the punishment. If a parent wishes to be present, it shall be allowed. Parents are also allowed to come to the school and administer the discipline in the presence of the principal if they so wish.

 

You look up, stunned at what you've just read. You can't believe this!

Mr. Rhodes, the Principal, opens a desk drawer. “Ah yes, school discipline,” he reaches into the drawer and removes something, setting it on the desk blotter on front of him.

Your mouth goes dry. It's a wooden paddle, and it's the biggest damn thing you've ever seen. It's about 16 inches long, including the handle, 5 inches wide, and half an inch thick, made of a light colored wood.

“Have either of you gentlemen had any experience with this implement?” Mr. Rhodes looks at Sam and Dean.

“Only the business end,” Dean jokes.

Mr. Rhodes chuckles. “Yes, I think many of us grew up with that. As instructors, you will be allowed to paddle the students, in class, or in the office if it's warranted. There are rules and regulations that go along with it, everything is outlined in the handbook. If you don't have any experience with using this intrument, we can discuss the proper usage and I can give you some...pointers.” 

“Uh—I have to—a-agree to this?” your voice squeaks at the end of the sentence.

Sam looks over at you. “Yes, y/n, we talked about this, that this would be a possibility. You agreed that it would be okay.”

You glance at the wooden menace sitting on the desk. “But—but--look at that thing!” 

Mr. Rhodes chuckles again. “I take it that means your daughter's never gotten the paddle?”

Sam clears his throat. “No, sir, I spank her with my hand only.”

You feel a shock as he says this- geez, why is he telling this guy stuff like that!  
“Sa--Daaad,” you protest, lowering your head as you feel yourself start to blush.

“You need to sign the handbook, stating that you agree to abide by the disciplinary practices of the school,” Mrs. Shaw says to you.

You look up at Sam imploringly. “Please--”

“Hey, kiddo, it'll be all right, just behave and you won't have to find out what the paddle is like, right?” Dean says easily. 

You shoot him a glare. “That's not the point!” you snap.

Sam leans over to you, his lips next to your ear. “We will discuss this later. Right now you need to go along with everything,” he says in a harsh whisper. 

He pulls back and looks at you sternly, raising his eyebrows. “You gonna sign?”

You sigh. “Fiiine,” you pick up the pen again and sign.

Sam puts his hand on your wrist. “Young lady, that will be the last time you display attitude today.”

You glance up at him—he looks mad! “What do you have to say?” he asks sternly. 

“Uh--”

“You were rude to your Uncle a moment ago. And everyone in this room doesn't need to hear your temper,” Sam's voice is still firm.

You look at him, wanting to say, 'yeah, so?, but you realize that that would probably not be the best thing to say.

“Apologize,” his voice is hard now, and you feel a shiver inside.

“Oh...I, uh, I'm sorry, U--uncle Dean...and I'm sorry, Principal Rhodes and Vice-Principal Shaw,” you say quietly, feeling your face get even more red. You lower your head again and stare at the oriental rug on the floor. 

“And?” Sam asks pointedly.

“I—I'm sorry, D--dad.”

“That's better,” Sam says, patting your hand and sitting forward.

“Well, I must say, it's refreshing to see a father who's willing to discipline his child in front of others. I think too many parents are embarrassed or worried about what others will think,” the principal beams at Sam.

“Well, our father had no qualms about disciplining my brother and I in public, and I'm finding out that as a parent, I don't either,” Sam says.

The phone on Mr. Rhodes's desk trills and lights up. He picks up the receiver. “Yes? Oh, they are? Again?” he sighs, “All right, have them wait, and I'll deal with them in a few minutes. I'm in a meeting.” 

He sets the receiver back in the cradle and looks up at Mrs. Shaw. “The Thompson twins have gotten into another fight, and Ms. Stroud has sent them to the office to be dealt with.” 

Mrs. Shaw shakes her head. “We're going to have to call the parents in.”

Mr. Rhodes sits forward. “Guess I don't need to put this away,” he hefts the paddle as he stands up, and then sets it back on the desk, “I'm sorry, gentlemen, we need to cut this meeting short. If you want, you can come back to the school tomorrow to discuss any questions you may have.” He reaches out his hand, and shakes hands with Sam and then Dean. 

“Good-bye, Miss Young, it was nice to meet you. We'll see you on Monday,” Mr. Rhodes offers his hand to you, and you shake it, and then Mrs. Shaw's hand. You follow Sam and Dean out of the office.

There are three girls sitting in chairs next to the office door. Two of them are identical twins, thin, blonde girls. One twin is holding an ice pack to the side of her head, and the other girl sitting with them is holding an ice pack to her lip. They each have red marks or bruises on their faces and arms, and the sleeve of one twin's shirt is torn at the seam.

Mr. Rhodes straightens up and looks at the girls disapprovingly. “All right girls, come into my office,” he says.

The blood drains from three faces as the girls stand up and you swear you hear at least one of them gulp audibly as they walk into the office. 

You walk out to the parking lot between Sam and Dean. Dean unlocks the doors and opens the back door for you.

You throw yourself into the back seat and slam the door.

Dean turns from behind the wheel. “Hey, easy with the door, there, tiger. What's going on?”

“I—I can't believe this!” you fume, “and you, Sam, did you have to come down on me like that? In front of everyone?” 

Sam turns to you. “Yeah, I did. I was testing the waters to see how they responded to it, and they took the bait like I thought.”

“What does that mean?” 

“They're old-fashioned people who respond to others with the same ideals that they have. In order to gain their confidence, I have to act like them,” Sam explains.

“No you don't!” you snap.

“Yes, I do. This is what it's like, going undercover. Sometimes you have to act in ways that are counter to your belief system. I want them to trust me and potentially confide in me.” 

'This is gonna suck,” you mutter. You look up at them. “So just how strict are you gonna be? And why didn't you discuss any of this with me before?” 

Sam sighs. “I'm sorry, I really wasn't thinking about this aspect of the investigation—I mean the parenting and all. I've been concentrating on the school and the town and the history, and I didn't even think about the rest of it.” 

“Well, we need to think about it, and talk about it! Because I don't want any more surprises like that where I'm humiliated in front of people!” you cross your arms. 

“All right, chill out,” Dean tells you, “Let's go find the apartments and get settled in, and then we can sit down and talk everything through.”


	2. Getting Settled In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter- my keyboard is on fire from all the writing I'm doing! The story may seem slow so far, but the action will pick up soon! Enjoy!  
> *********

There's a set of already-furnished apartments in a couple of those gigantic old houses-that-got-turned-into-apartments several decades ago. This is where a lot of the teachers and their families live. 

The first couple floors are for families with kids- you and Sam have an apartment on the second floor- and the singles live on the upper floors. Dean has a tiny one-bedroom flat just above yours. He jokes that it's going to be “The Love Den”, and you scoff and roll your eyes when he says that. 

You're in the apartment that you and Sam share, with the guys, having unloaded all your suitcases and boxes of stuff a short while ago. Dean had run out to pick up some take-out Chinese and buy some supplies, and the three of you had settled on the overstuffed chairs and sofa in the living room with chopsticks and little white boxes. 

Dean brings in two bottles of beer and hands one to Sam. 

“Hey, what about me?” you ask, looking up at Dean.

“You're underage now, aren't ya?” Dean sits down across from you and picks up a container of Kung Pao beef. 

“Not really!” you look over at Sam, who shakes his head. “Might as well start getting into character, y/n,” he says.

“Aww, come on!” you turn back to Dean, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. 

“That only works on me when Sammy does it, y/n,” he chuckles. 

You lean over and pick up Dean's beer bottle and take a swig. 

“Hey,” Sam leans towards you, his voice deep and serious, “You can't be messing around like this.”

When you scoff, he says, “No, I mean it, we've got to stay in character all the time. One slip up could derail the investigation or put us in danger.”

Dean picks up his beer and moves the bottle to the floor next to his foot. “Sam's right, so you better cool your jets,” he raises his eyebrows as you pout, “The pouty face ain't gonna work on me either, kid,” he chuckles again.

“So...what's the plan?” you ask, digging into your chicken with mixed vegetables. 

“Tomorrow, we've got to go back to the school and fill out paperwork, and pick up our textbooks and curriculum guidelines and all that,” Sam says.

“And paddles,” Dean jokes. 

“Uhh, yeah, about that...” you say with hesitation, “Do I really have to, you know...”

“What?” Sam takes a pull of beer, “You're a student at the school, and you signed the handbook. Just stay out of trouble, and you won't have to deal with any of that discipline stuff.” 

“Did you see all the-- all the freakin' rules and requirements? You—you get demerits if you so much as sneeze the wrong way!” you protest. 

Sam shrugs. “It's a private school, they're allowed to do stuff like that. You should have no problem with any of it, right? We've gotten you the uniform and everything.” 

“I guess,” you sigh, “But what if-- what if I do—get into that kind of trouble? Do I have to, you know, let them do—that--to me?” you squirm with embarrassment, thinking of being paddled- and what that would entail. 

“What, get paddled? Yeah, you're gonna have to,” Dean says, looking at you, “It should be okay, a couple pops with it, your ass stings for a couple hours and then it cools down.”

“Says you! I've never-- I've only been spanked, you know!” you say hotly. 

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I forget that not everyone has had a father like Corporal John Winchester, who was the King of Butt-warmings. We got the paddle when we were younger and the belt when we were older.” 

You grimace. “Paddle and belt? Geez!” 

“It was a small paddle, meant for kid's asses, not like that humongo paddle they have at the school. And he reserved the belt for our teen years,” Dean takes a long drink of his beer. 

“Like we've been saying, you should be fine, okay?” Sam smiles at you, “I know you were a good student when you were really in school, so this should be easy for you.”

“So tomorrow, after we fill out paperwork and all, you wanna case the joint?” Dean asks Sam.

“Am I going too? I can help out, you know, look around for a while,” you chime in.

“Um, I don't know, y/n,” Sam says doubtfully, “I'd kinda like to get a feel for the school on our own.”

“What does that mean?” you bristle, “Are you implying that I'd be—in the way or something?”

“No, not in the way, just—I'd like to get a handle on things as a teacher, without adding the parental element into it yet,” Sam sets down his container of food and picks up an egg roll. 

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask, pouting again. 

“You can hang out here, unpack your clothes, watch some MTV, paint your nails, y'know, girly stuff,” Dean smirks at you.

“Oh ha ha,” you say, throwing a fortune cookie at him. It hits him on the chin and falls into his lap.

“Watch it, little girl,” Dean growls, “Or I'll turn you over my knee.” 

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically, rolling your eyes, “When is Uncle Dean going to take me out and buy me presents?” you lean forward and bat your eyes at him. 

“After Uncle Dean gives you a good spanking, like you need,” he growls again, but he's teasing. 

“Promise?” you joke with a grin. 

“Get over here,” he reaches out and grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him, and then pulls you over his lap. The chair he's sitting in has thick overstuffed arms on the sides, and he pushes your torso down onto the padded arm. 

You squeal as he spanks your ass once. “Dean! Cut it out!”

“That's Uncle Dean to you,” he says, still growling, and then lands a couple more swats to your rear. 

“You gonna behave?” he asks gruffly, resting his hand on your stinging butt, “You gonna be a good girl in school?” 

“Yes- ow!” you protest as he spanks you a couple more times, “De-- U-Uncle Dean!” 

“You better be good. 'Cause if you're not, and we hear about it, you're gonna be in trouble with us. That was one of our Dad's rules: you get in trouble at school, or when someone else is watching you, then you get in trouble at home. You got it?” Dean's voice is deep and stern.

“Yeah—OW!” you screech as he swats each cheek two times, harder. 

“What was that?” his voice is still stern.

“Okay! I mean, yes, Uncle Dean!” you say quickly. His hand falls again, lower down on the undercurve, a few times on each side, and you whine. 

He releases you, and pulls you to sit on his lap. “Be good,” he says, putting his arm around your back.

You lean on his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “I will.”

Sam looks at both of you and shakes his head. “This isn't a game.”

“Never said it was. I'm just making sure she knows who the boss is,” Dean shifts you on his lap, and you pull your legs up and snuggle into him.

“She should know,” Sam replies.

Dean chuckles. “Knowing y/n, you're probably going to have to remind her from time to time.”

You lean back and look at him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you're kinda headstrong...and stubborn...and naughty,” he grins at you. 

You huff at him and he pinches your butt, which makes you squeal. 

“Are we about done here?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I'm finished,” you stand up, and help him carry the leftovers into the kitchen and put them away. Dean had bought some groceries as well, staples like coffee, bread, butter, and eggs. 

“This weekend we can go out and buy food and school supplies,” Sam tells you. 

Dean brings in the trash and throws it away. “Well, I'm gonna take off, get my own stuff unpacked. I'll see ya tomorrow.” 

You go over to him and put your arms around him. “Good night.”

He hugs you back and drops a kiss on the top of your head. “Good night, niece, sleep well.” 

After he leaves, you look at Sam. “Well, um...what do we do now?” 

“I've got some unpacking to do, you should too,” Sam says. 

You each go to your respective bedrooms and work on emptying your suitcases. Your room is a pale yellow color, with wooden bedroom furniture that's a light reddish color. There's a curved headboard, with a low dresser with a mirror, and a vanity table/desk that matches. A chunky armchair with a velvety covering sits in the corner of the room next to a small closet. There's a low bookshelf against the wall behind the door too- it has several books on it, mostly worn copies of classic books by authors like Jane Austen and Mark Twain. 

You look around once you've gotten your clothes put away. You can get some prints or posters to hang on the walls, and add some knick-knacks and candles too, to make it more homey for you. 

Sam stops in the doorway and looks around. “This isn't too bad. Kinda small, but cosy,” he comments.

“Yeah, it's okay.” you agree. 

“It's getting late, you should get to bed,” he says.

“Why, if I'm not going anywhere tomorrow?” you ask.

“You need to get your body on a schedule so you can get up for school,” he reminds you, “and because I said so.” 

“Oh, are you gonna be one of those parents who says that? That is so lame!” you cross your arms and pout. 

“Yeah, I am. Sometimes that's the way it's gotta be,” he pulls you to him and hugs you, “And I don't need to hear any little comments from you.” 

“I can't voice my opinion?” you ask sassily. 

“Yes, you can, just watch the sass,” he says firmly, “Remember you're supposed to be my kid, and I've raised you to be respectful, not mouthy.” 

“Yes, Father,” you say primly, and then squeal when he tickles your sides. 

“You better watch it, or I'll require you to say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' all the time, young lady,” his voice is stern.

“Yes, sir, Daddy,” you say with a smirk.

Sam laughs. “You just have to push it, don't you?” and he lands a swat on your butt, “Get ready for bed, y/n.”

He lets you go as you say, “Yes, Daddy Sam,” and you try to dodge out of the way as he goes to spank you again. Or course, he's quicker than you, and his hand leaves another stinging swat on your rear end.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The next day is Friday. The guys had timed your arrival here to give all of you a couple of days to explore and get settled in, before getting involved in the school. Sam and Dean leave early in the morning to go over to the school, and come home in the afternoon with stacks of books and files and a pizza box. 

Sam hands you a plastic bag filled with heavy, thick books. “I got your textbooks too,” he says.

“Thanks,” you lean over and pull one out. “Civics?” 

“Yeah, that's what I'm going to be teaching,” Dean says, “History, to all the grades. Your grade gets Civics. Do you remember all the branches of government?” 

“No!” you exclaim.

“Well, dust off your thinking cap, 'cause you're gonna have to remember all that,” Dean tells you.

“Sam, what are you going to be teaching?” you ask. 

“I'll be helping in the library part time, and teaching a class on Western Mythology and Philosophy to the upperclassmen. Upperclasswomen? You won't be taking it, it's for juniors and seniors only,” Sam tells you.

“Aw man, so I won't get a class with 'my Dad' as my teacher?” you grin, “Although I guess that might be a good thing, if 'Dad' ends up being a hardass.” 

“Watch the mouth,” Sam taps your nose with his finger.

“We already got invited out, too,” Dean tells you, “The teachers go to a certain restaurant on Fridays, usually for drinks, but they said that this time, it'll be for dinner, to welcome us, and you're invited too.” 

“Ooh, we get to go out to eat? Is it some place fancy?” You ask excitedly.

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs. 

 

After you've eaten all the pizza, the three of you drive to the grocery store, and then you stop to rent a car for Sam to drive. By the time you've gotten back to your apartment and put everything away, it's time to get ready to leave. 

You come out to the living room, sliding a purse onto your shoulder. You're wearing a flowery sundress that comes down to just above your knees, with cute little brown leather ankle boots. 

Dean raises his eyebrows. 

“Yes?” you ask.

“That's, um, well...I'm not used to seeing you wearing clothes like that,” he gestures to the neck of your dress, which is low enough to show off some cleavage. 

“Well, if you got it, flaunt it,” you say teasingly, shaking your shoulders. 

“Hmm,” Sam says. 

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

The restaurant is a large building with dim lighting and low music playing in the background, giving the impression of a nice place without seeming too fancy. As you stand at the front with the guys, a woman walks past holding a young boy. She is frowning, and the kid's face is red and tear-stained. She pulls him along and as they walk past, you see that he's rubbing his butt. 

After you've been led to the table, you're introduced to several teachers, and you know you won't remember all their names. The waiter brings glasses of water for everyone, and goes around the table taking orders for drinks and appetizers. You're sitting between Sam and Dean; Dean orders a whiskey, of course.

The waiter looks at you expectantly, and you say, “I'd like a Cosmo, please.”

“Uhh--” the waiter says uncomfortably. 

“Ha ha, nice try, kiddo. She'll have a Coke,” Dean tells the waiter, who looks relieved. 

Sam orders a glass of wine, and he gives you a look as you sip your water. 

After the drinks and appetizers have been served, and food orders placed, a couple of people get up and move around, some of them standing together at the other end of the table. A man comes over and helps himself to a couple of the stuffed mushrooms at your end of the table, and you get up and wander over to the platter of potato skins and snag one for yourself. 

When you walk back around to your seat, you notice that Sam is not at his place, and Dean has leaned over to talk to someone further up the table. The drinks are all just sitting there, and you absent-mindedly pick up Sam's glass of wine and take a drink- you like to have a glass of wine with dinner when you're out at a nice restaurant. 

“Excuse me, young lady, should you be drinking that?” an older woman says to you, peering down her nose at you. Her glasses are perched on the end of her sharp nose, and she looks like she swallowed a lemon. If she's a teacher at the school, you hope you don't have her for any subject, because she seems rather unpleasant! 

Her voice is loud and raspy, the voice of a habitual smoker, and a couple people-including Dean—turn towards you and stare. 

Then a hand is removing the glass from your hand, and Sam is there behind you, looming over you. “Yes, should you be drinking that?” he asks tightly, then he takes your arm and pulls you to a standing position. “Come with me,” he says in a stern voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave it on a cliffie! What do you think DaddySam is going to do?


	3. At the Restaurant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a slight re-write and added some more onto the end of the chapter, I wasn't happy with how it was before...the next chapter should be up in a day or so. Please let me know what you think!  
> **********

Sam's walking so fast through the restaurant that you're having trouble keeping up.

“Sam--” you hiss, and he spins around and leans down into your face, and snaps, “Quiet!” and then continues leading you down a hallway. 

There's a dimly-lit alcove away from the rest rooms and the doorway that leads to the kitchens-- there are coats hung up there, and a stack of folding chairs propped against one wall. Sam pushes you into the back of the alcove, keeping his hand on your arm. 

“What do you think you're doing!” he hisses, his hazel eyes dark with anger.

“I—I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be-- I just—I forgot!” 

He sighs angrily. “You cannot do that, y/n,” he says in a hard voice, “I mean it. We're just starting to establish ourselves here, and we can't have anything messing that up. Now get with the program and do what you're supposed to.” 

“I said I was sorry!” you say hotly. 

“Sorry won't mean a damn thing if you ruin the investigation,” he growls, and you get goosebumps for a moment because of how much he sounds like Dean. 

“Turn around,” he tells you.

“Wait, wh--what? N--” you say, and then he's man-handling you, turning you and holding you against his hip. He pushes your upper body forward and tucks you under his arm.

You start to panic- oh my God, is he going to spank you right here? He is! “Sa--”

“No!” he snaps, and then his hand cracks down on your butt.

You gasp, and try to struggle out of his hold on you. “Stop it, everyone will hear!” you whisper-shriek. 

“That's too bad, you should have thought of that beforehand,” he tells you. His hand falls a couple more times and you rise up on your toes at the sting.

And then you panic when you hear footsteps, but you can't turn to see who it is. All you can do is grab onto the back of Sam's pant legs.

“S—Dad, please!” you beg, “Don't—not here!” You feel humiliated- you're bent over with your ass sticking out, anyone walking by will see-- and hear-- you getting spanked like a child! Your eyes fill with tears that spill down your cheeks.

“Would you rather I take you out to the car for this? It's busy right now, there are people coming and going in the parking lot,” he growls. 

You hear more footsteps, and a voice says, “Oh, excuse me.”

“Oh my God, someone saw!” you whisper-shriek again, fighting against him.

“Just a server,” Sam tells you, and he spanks you a couple more times, “Be still!”

You whimper and try to move away from Sam, but he's holding you too tight. “Please!” you beg quietly.

A flurry of hard swats fall on your sit-spots and you gasp again at the pain. 

He lets you go, and takes your chin in his hand, lifting your face to look up at him. You're shuddering with sobs and your ass is throbbing.

“I'm sorry,” he says, “I know it wasn't pleasant. But I had to do that, I'm—I'm establishing a character.” 

“Great,” you mumble sarcastically, and he pulls you into his chest for a hug. You put your arms around him, and grip the back of his jacket.

“Be good for the rest of the evening, huh?” he asks. 

“Yes D--dad,” you agree, sniffling, “I—I'm sorry.”

“That's my girl,” he pats your back, “Ready to go back?” 

“Wait,” you say, leaning your head on his chest for a moment. You feel like you need more reassurance from him.

He gives you an extra-tight squeeze, stroking your hair, and says gently, “You're okay, y/n, it's over.”

After a long moment, you sniffle, “I'm ready.” 

He wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, and then takes your hand and leads you back to the table. 

The appetizers have all been cleared away by now, and everyone is sitting back down in their places. It feels like everyone is looking at you as you walk up to the table and sit down. No one says anything for a long awkward moment. 

Your chest hitches once as you reach for your soda, and you take a long swallow, hiding your face in the glass. 

When you put it down, you glance over at Dean. He's looking at you with a frown, his eyebrows raised, and you feel yourself start to blush. You look down at your lap, and he reaches over and gives your hand a squeeze.

You sit quietly, your eyes cast down, as you wait for the food to arrive.

Dean's ordered steak and potatoes, of course, Sam's ordered grilled chicken with steamed vegetables, and you've ordered a half rack of ribs and mashed potatoes. 

“Try some of this, it's great,” Dean holds a fork up to your mouth. You take the bite of steak he offers. “Oh wow, that is good,” you say, “You want one of my ribs?” 

“No, you eat 'em,” Dean smiles at you, “You're getting a little messy there.” 

“I know, I'll clean up when I'm finished,” you say, picking up a rib. A chunk of meat falls off and onto your lap, smearing your dress with barbecue sauce. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, scooting your chair back and picking up the piece of meat. You look up-- Sam is looking at you disapprovingly. Well, dammit, you just messed up your dress, he's gonna have to deal! 

“I'll be back,” you say, standing up. You hurry to the bathroom, ans wash your hands and then dab at the stain with a damp paper towel. Hopefully you'll be able to get the stain out. 

When you come back and sit down, Sam leans over to you. “Watch--your--mouth,” he whispers in your ear. 

You glance at him. “Oh come on, did you see--”

He raises his eyebrows. “Do I need to take you out to the car?” 

You gulp. “N-no, D-dad,” you say meekly.

“Best behavior the rest of the night,” he tells you, and then sits up. 

“Yes, Dad,” you whisper.

You glance down the table, and a couple people are watching you. The older woman who said something before looks disapproving, and one of the men has a slight smile on his lips. 

One of the people on the other side of Sam asks him about his teaching career, and he launches into a story about his college experiences. You don't know if this is something he's thought out beforehand, or if he's just thinking on his feet, but the ease with which he makes it seems real is impressive. 

“So, young lady, what are you studying?” the man leans forward and looks at you. 

“Um, just the standard stuff for a ninth-grader, y'know,” you say casually, “I—I haven't been to school, yet, so I'm not sure.” 

“Are you going to be taking any languages?”

You glance at Sam. “Uh, I don't know. I already know—some Latin, I, um, studied it before.”

“Latin, that's impressive! Well, I hear that the school has a great language department,” the man smiles. 

“And a great English department too, don't forget,” the woman sitting next to him says.

“Oh, yes, of course, dear, your department is wonderful too,” the man rolls his eyes. 

“I can't wait to explore the books that are in the library, I've heard they have some impressive first editions,” Sam says. 

“Yes, the school was bequeathed a large collection of antique books by the founders,” the woman says. 

You finish eating the last couple of ribs, and tear open the packet of wet wipes that the waiter had brought with your meal. 

Dean chuckles as you wipe your hands off. “Wait a sec,” he tells, you, dipping the corner of his napkin in his water. He takes your chin in his hand and dabs at your lower cheek with the wet cloth. 

“You're a little bit saucy,” he tells you with a grin, and you grin back, wanting to say something cheeky, but not wanting to risk getting into any more trouble. 

The waiter is back, clearing plates and asking for coffee and dessert orders. 

“We should get going,” Sam says. 

“We're not going to get dessert?” you ask. 

Sam gives you a look. “No, we're not,” he and Dean stand up, and a couple other people stand up and shake their hands. 

“Well, good luck young lady, and behave yourself,” the man who was speaking to you before offers his hand. You shake it, trying to make yourself smile. 

“And do try to stay out of the principal's office, the children of teachers should be role models of good behavior and decorum,” the sour-puss old woman from before says to you. 

You grit your teeth and say, “Good-bye,” as you walk over next to Dean.

After you climb into the back seat, you say, “Can you believe that shit? 'Behave yourself, be a role model of decorum',” you mimic the old woman's voice. You fold your arms over your chest, “And I wanted to get dessert,” you say with a pout.

Sam turns to face you. “After all the crap you pulled in there?”

Dean turns around too. “You're supposed to be a teen-ager, and you weren't really acting like one, y/n.” 

“Well, teen-agers do drink sometimes, you know. And they swear too!” you say hotly.

“Yeah, but would you have tried to drink in front of your parents and a bunch of people you'd never met before? Would you swear in front of your parents and strangers?” Dean asks, “If I'd done either of those things, Dad would've smacked me upside the head right there at the table.” 

“Wha--” you're stunned, and then you get angry, “You—you spanked me in there! In public! People walked by and saw it, and everyone knew when we came back to the table!” You glare at Sam.

“That's the way this town seems to be, the school does the corporal punishment thing, and I think a lot of the parents do too. So it's not out of the ordinary,” Sam says in a reasonable voice, ““You're lucky I didn't spank you for swearing as well.”

You huff at him.

“We're trying to establish our roles here, and you should be too,” Dean looks at you seriously, “And it seems like you forgot about that.” 

“Well, I'm new to this, I've never done undercover work like this! Can't you cut me some slack?” you exclaim.

“We can't mess this up. We're gonna have to practice our roles, so that we get comfortable with them and we don't slip up,” Dean says, starting the car. 

Sam looks at you. “I want you to be a well-behaved, polite girl, who doesn't swear or give attitude, who does the right thing all the time.”

You sit up straight. “Yes, Father,” you say primly, smirking at him.

Dean glances at you in the rear-view mirror. “You gonna be a smart-ass, you're gonna end up over someone's knee,” he says in a deeper voice.

“All right, all right,” you roll your eyes. 

“Hey, you need to think about your role, seriously. You're creating a character, that you're going to have to play, 24/7,” Sam says. 

“I said all right!” you huff. 

Dean pulls the car into a parking space, and then turns to you again. “Okay, starting now, we're in our roles. You're gonna be a little girl, and we're gonna be your father and uncle, who're taking care of you. And you're gonna do what we say without mouthing off,” he points at you, “Any more sass or eye-rolling tonight, and you'll be taking a trip across my knee, got it?” 

You look at him- he has his 'serious hunter face' on and his voice is that deeper tone that he gets when he's just this side of angry. 

You swallow uneasily, and say, “Yes, Dean. I mean Uncle Dean!” 

He gives you a look. “Don't let it happen again,” he says, and the three of you get out of the car.

You're still processing what Dean said, as you walk into the apartment. “Wait,” you say, “you said 'little girl'. How little? I mean, what age? I'm supposed to be sixteen right?” 

Dean turns to you. “Yeah, you're gonna be sixteen. But for now, we're gonna treat you like you're a kid, to get you used to it. You don't have to act younger, but for now, we're gonna treat you like you are. And that way you can get used to being told what to do and all that.” 

“Ooh, does that mean you're going to buy me ice cream and toys? Can I throw a temper tantrum if I don't get my way?” you wiggle your eyebrows mischeivously. 

“Only if you want to end up with a sore butt,” Sam says, “I won't tolerate any tantrums.”

“Me neither,” Dean agrees, “It's time for little girls to get ready for bed.”

“Well, I don't see any little girls here, so I guess we're all staying up!” you joke. 

Dean walks over to you and swats your butt twice. “You looking for a bedtime spanking?” he asks gruffly.

“I was just kidding, geez!” you rub your stinging rear end.

“Well, I'm not. Go get ready for bed, little girl,” he smacks your butt again, and you yelp and jump out of his way, and then hurry down the hall to your room. 

When you come back out to the living room, the guys each have a bottle of beer, and they're sitting on the sofa looking through file folders. 

“Someone gonna tuck me in?” you ask, trying to look innocent. 

“C'mere,” Sam beckons you. He reaches up to hug you, and you try to grab the beer bottle out of his hand. Quick as a flash, he's pulled you down across his lap. “Do you need a replay of your earlier spanking?” he asks sternly.

“No! No, Sa- Dad!” you screech, struggling in his hold. 

His huge hand falls once, twice, three times on your butt, and you squeal, because damn you always forget how big and hard his hands are! 

“I catch you drinking again, and you won't sit for a week,” Sam growls, “I mean it, y/n. No drinking, no smoking, no drugs.” He helps you sit up in his lap. 

“Yes, Dad,” you say, putting your arms around him. Sam hugs you and kisses your forehead, and you get up and lean over to Dean.

“Good night, little girl,” he says, pulling you to his chest. He kisses your cheek and hugs you, and then lets you up. 

“What are you guys gonna do?” you ask.

“Work on learning about the school and the staff,” Dean says, “Now go to bed.”


	4. Getting into Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, if you haven't read the previous chapter since it was published, you should go back and read it again. I changed a bit and added some more on to the end. 
> 
> Apologies if this chapter seems like slow going. Establishing plot can be a little tedious, but it's necessary. Thanks to those of you who have been leaving comments and reviews, they feed my muse and make her happy! (and a happy muse means more writing!) The next chapter will see our OC having her first day of school- how much trouble is she going to get in? Hmm...  
> **********

In the morning, you wake up to the sound of someone in your room. Dean is standing in front of your closet, looking at your clothes. 

“What're you doin'?” you yawn, sitting up.

“Good morning, princess,” he says, turning to you. 

“'Princess'?” you give him a look.

“Well, Uncle Dean needs to have a special nickname for his favorite niece,” he grins at you, “I'm deciding what to call you.”

You get out of bed, and he pulls out a dress. “I want to see you wear this one today.”

“You're picking out my clothes?” you ask disbelievingly.

“Remember what I said last night? We're getting into our roles this weekend, and you're our little girl.”

“Oh. Well what if I don't like it?” you ask. 

“I'll consider negotiating...but you have to remember, that Sam and I are in charge, so we have the final say in everything,” He walks over to the bed and lays the dress down. “Let's go have breakfast.” 

There are danishes and sausages on the table, and you walk over to the coffee maker. 

“Hey,” Sam says, and you pause in the act of getting out a mug. 

“I can't have coffee? Please, guys! I need it...I gotta have my coffee!” you whine, giving them puppy-dog eyes. 

Dean and Sam look at each other, and Dean laughs. “All right, you can have coffee.” 

You pour a mug for yourself, gratefully, and go over to the small table, where Sam is sitting. 

“Good morning, Dad,” you say, sitting next to him.

“What kind of danish you want? We got apple, cheese, or raspberry,” Dean tells you.

“Oh, umm...cheese,” you say, looking at the newspaper Sam is browsing. “What's that?”

“The local paper,” Sam replies, “I figure it's good to get up to speed on what's going on in the town.”

Dean sets a plate in front of you. There's a cheese danish, three sausages that have been cut up, and two slices of cantaloupe.

You look at him. “You cut up my food? What, am I five years old?” you ask sarcastically.

“No, do you remember what I said last night? We're going to treat you like a kid for now,” Dean says. 

You huff and shake your head.

“Keep complaining, little girl, see where it gets you,” Dean tells you, and takes a drink of coffee, “We're going to act likes tourists today, go sight-seeing. The town used to have trolleys in the early 1900s, and they have a couple of buses that drive people through the area, and then we'll do a walking tour of the main downtown district. They have a small museum for local history in the town too. And we can stop for lunch while we're at it.” 

“That could be fun,” you pick up your danish and take a bite.

“As long as you behave yourself,” Dean says. 

After you've eaten, you get ready, wearing the dress that Dean picked out and putting your hair in two French braids. You grab your purse and walk out to the living room.

“I'm ready to go,” you say. 

Sam tugs on the end of one of your braids. “Cute,” he comments with a grin. 

“I figured it would make me look younger and maybe feel younger too,” you explain. 

“Good plan,” Dean agrees. 

The three of you drive downtown to the tourist center and buy tickets for the tour. The bus is fitted out to look like an old-fashioned trolley, with wooden seats and shiny brass fixtures. You sit between Sam and Dean, and Sam puts his arm behind you, across the seat back. 

“This is kinda neat,” you look around the interior. 

“Yeah, it should be interesting,” Sam says. 

The tour drives through the town, pointing out specific buildings that have historic value- the library used to be a hospital and housed people who had the 'Spanish Flu' in the early 1900s, many of whom died on the site.

“Wonder how many spirits are walking around there,” Dean comments quietly to Sam.

There are many cute little shops and an old-fashioned pharmacy that has a still-working soda fountain. Some of the buildings have been there since the Civil War and have things like bullets or cannon balls still lodged in the cement, from different battles. 

Then you get to the most famous landmark of the town- the area of “The Three Corners”. The tour guide tells the story of Robert Johnson and how he made a deal with the devil at a crossroads, and then he says that there are legends about the “three cornered crossroad” too. He says that one legend is that there's a specific demon that hangs out there, and another local legend says that if you need something to change in your life, you bury an object related to it at the crossroads. Some people swear by it and others say it's all superstition. 

In the late 1800s, the young women in the town believed that if you wanted a husband, you had to tie a particular colored ribbon onto a tree and say a prayer. The tree had gotten struck by lightening decades ago, and died, but there's still a huge trunk there that people leave “offerings” to, and there's a legend that if you go to the tree on a date with someone and kiss them there, that you will end up marrying them. 

“Of course, that may have been started at the girl's school, because they always enjoy any time they get to spend with young gentlemen,” the tour guide says. 

“I heard that there's witches there, at that school?” someone asks.

Sam and Dean glance at each other. 

The tour guide looks uncomfortable. “Well, that's just an unsubstantiated rumor.”

“But a couple of the recent deaths in the area have had satanic overtones! My neighbor knows one of the cops who worked one of the cases!” a man insists.

A woman leans forward. “Hey, witch-craft and satanism aren't the same thing, dude! Witches aren't evil!” 

“All right, let's get back to the tour,” the tour guide interrupts, “We're going to go down the back road that's called “Widow's Row” because there were several boarding houses that war widows ended up living in for many years. The buildings were designed by famed architect--”

Sam leans over and says, “Looks like there may be some people who are sympathetic to witches in the town.”

Dean grimaces. “Man, I freakin' hate witches.” 

“Well, you might have to be nice to some, to find out information, so just be cool,” Sam tells him. 

The trolley drives back to the visitor's center and everyone gets off. Some people leave, and a few hang around for the walking tour. You're starting to get bored and a little hungry. 

Dean is holding your hand. “I'm getting kinda hungry,” you whisper to him.

“We'll eat lunch after the tour, sweetheart,” he tells you. 

The tour guide is enthusiastic about the architecture of the buildings, and likes to ramble about arched doorways, finials, and decorative trim. 

“Snore,” you say sarcastically as she starts to talk about the wainscoting in the library.

Sam leans down. “Don't be a smart-alec,” he says in a quiet voice. 

“Do I have to stay with you guys?” you ask, “Look, there's a cute shop that's just cat and dog stuff!” 

“You don't have a cat or a dog,” Sam replies, “Just a little while longer, y/n. We need to stick together. You can keep an eye out for a place to eat.” 

“How about I go back to that tea house that's down the street, and I'll meet you there?” 

“No, stay with us,” Dean says. 

You huff at him, and he leans close to your ear. “Behave yourself, little girl,” he says quietly, “Or else.”

You're feeling annoyed by now, and you really want to say, “Or else what?” but you don't want to run the risk of him pulling you into a corner and swatting you.

“Yes, Uncle Dean,” you say obediently. 

The group stops in front of the courthouse and the guide begins to talk about how the building used to house prisoners and even executed some of them in the old days. Sam steps to the front of the group to ask a question, and Dean drops your hand and follows him, to hear what Sam is saying. 

A couple of buildings back was a cute little shop that sells jewelry and accessories, and there were some really pretty earrings in the window. You wander back towards it, and then glance back at the group. The tour guide is gesturing up at the building, it seems like they'er going to be there for a while. You'll just pop into this little shop for a moment. 

A stand full of pretty scarves catches your eye, and you look through them, and then walk over to the counter, where there are trays of earrings and necklaces. You look them over, starting to drool- some of them are really pretty, made with semi-precious stones like garnet and amethyst. 

The bell over the door jingles, and then you feel a hand clamp onto your arm. You turn and look up- Dean is standing there, and he does not look happy. “There you are,” he says, and he leads you out of the store.

“Dean,” you say as he pulls you along, “I just stopped in for a quick look!” 

He stops in front of the store and turns to you. “What did I tell you?” his voice is stern.

“Uh--”

“I told you to stay with us!” he snaps, “Come on, we've got to catch up to the group.”

You hurry along the sidewalk next to him, and finally catch up to the crowd in the middle of the next block.

Sam is standing towards the back, and when he sees you, he just shakes his head. 

“What?” you hiss.

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close, leaning down. His voice is a soft hiss in your ear, “You're in trouble, young lady. Just how much trouble is up to you. I suggest you behave yourself for the rest of the day.”

He straightens up and raises his eyebrows. “Yes, D-dad,” you say, feeling a nervous pang in your stomach. 

Sam takes your hand. “I want you right by me or Dean.” 

You walk along next to him, getting more and more bored as the minutes tick by. Your stomach is growling with hunger, and it's making you irritated. 

“I need food!” you say to Sam, “I'm hungry!” 

“Well, the tour's just about over,” Dean says, “I wanted to talk to the guide for a minute about--”

“I said I need food!” you snap, “Did you hear what I said? I'm hungry NOW!” 

Dean blinks at you in surprise. “Excuse me, little girl?” he says in a deep voice. 

“I'm tired of walking around everywhere, I'd like to look at some of the shops, but mostly I just want food!” and you find yourself stomping your foot. 

“Let's go grab a table. Dean, we'll meet you there,” Sam says, “Come on, y/n.” He takes your hand, and the two of you cross the street, to the little deli that he'd noticed before. You and he order food and find a table at the back of the restaurant. You concentrate on eating for the next few minutes because you're so hungry. 

When you look up, Dean is there too. Both men are sitting with their arms crossed, looking at you with stern looks on their faces. 

“Look, I'm sorry,” you apologize, “I was getting the hangries, you know, I get cranky when I'm hungry like that.” 

“I'm sorry you had to wait for so long,” Dean says.

“But that doesn't excuse your rudeness, little girl,” Sam frowns at you. 

“I'm sorry!” you repeat. 

“You're still in trouble for it,” Sam says, “stomping your foot in a display of temper.” 

“That's not fair!” you protest, pounding your fist and throwing your napkin down on the table. 

“You gonna throw another little fit? Maybe we need to take her to the car for an attitude adjustment, Sam,” Dean says.

“I think that's a good idea,” Sam agrees.

“No! I mean—please, I—I'll behave for the rest of the day, okay? I promise,” you say, hoping that you've convinced them. 

“All right, but one more fit, or sass, and that's it,” Sam tells you.

“You're not going to spank me in public again!” you hiss angrily.

Sam leans forward. “I'll do what needs to be done. And if you need to be disciplined, then that's what's going to happen.” 

Your stomach twists nervously, and Dean puts his hand on yours. “And I don't know who you think you are, talking to your father like that. Disobedience, and now disrespect?” he gives you a stern look.

“Okay, I'm sorry!” you say quickly, giving them puppy-dog eyes again. 

Dean lets you go, and sits forward. “Are you finished eating?” 

“Yeah...I want some coffee,” you say. 

“We're going to the local museum next, they probably don't allow drinks inside. We can get some after we leave,” Sam tells you. You make a pouty face at him.

“If you manage to behave yourself,” Dean says as the three of you stand up and collect your trash. 

You stick your tongue out at him and he gives your butt a light swat as you walk by him to the trash can. “Little brat,” he mutters with a smirk. 

 

There are a few people in the museum, which is relatively small. There are displays of old maps of the towns showing how it developed, which Sam takes photos of with his phone.

Part of your cover story is that Sam is a professor of mythology who has been writing a book on places in the US that have unusual legends tied to them, and trying to figure out where the legends started. Sam had been hoping to speak with the curator of the museum to find out more historical information. However, the curator isn't there, only a bored teen-ager who is sitting at the front desk thumbing through his phone. 

The three of you take some of the free brochures that are set out, and Dean buys a locally-written book about the history of the town. Then the guys decide that they've seen enough. 

“Can we get some coffee?” you ask.

Dean looks down at you. “Have you been a good girl?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him. “I was a perfect angel!” 

“Perfectly naughty, you mean,” he smirks. 

“I was not!” you huff. 

After you've gotten the coffee, and some scones to go with it, you drive back to the apartments. You set the drink carrier on the table, and take your coat off. Dean goes off to the bathroom. 

Sam turns to you.“We have some business to take care of.” He walks over to the sofa.

“Oh, uh...what?” you try to appear innocent. 

“Your behavior earlier today, young lady,” he says, crossing his arms. 

“I said I was sorry!” you protest. 

“And I said you were in trouble. And now you get a consequence for your earlier misbehavior. Come here.” He sits down on the sofa and looks up at you expectantly.

“Whyyyy?” you whine. 

Sam's face is surprised. “Excuse me? Get your butt over here right now, little girl, because I said so!” he points to the floor in front of him, and you hurry over and stand there with your hands clasped behind you. 

“So tell me...why are you in trouble?” he asks. 

“I, uhh...I--” You feel your face start to get red, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure what to say.

“You were told to stay with us, by both me and Dean, and you went into a store on your own, without telling us where you were going. And then, you proceeded to throw not one little fit, but two, and speak disrepectfully to both me and your uncle. And I think you've earned yourself quite a punishment.” he takes your arm, and guides you over to his right side. 

“Sa—Dad, I'm sorry!” you exclaim, pulling away from him.

“Dammit, y/n, it's not Sam any more!” he's grabbed your arms and pulled you back in front of him, “ It's Dad, only Dad, from now on, and if you slip up again it'll be an immediate spanking, I don't care where we are!” He turns you and pulls you forward, and you fall acrosss his lap with a loud yelp. 

His hand begins to fall, hard and fast, and you squeal and start to fight him. He pauses in spanking you to adjust you over his knees, trapping your thighs between his own and pressing his arm across your lower back. 

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. Especially if it has to do with your safety,” Sam's voice is a little deeper, and you feel a pang in your belly.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean, I wanted you to stay with me today because we don't know very much about this area right now. I want you with one of us when we're out, for safety's sake. And if you continue to not listen to me, and do things to put yourself in danger, you're going to find yourself right back here over my knee.” 

He begins to spank you again, and you gasp out, “I'm sorry, I won't—I'll stay with you, I promise!” as his hand cracks down on one cheek and then the other. 

“What did I say before? I said I wanted a well-behaved, polite little girl, and you were neither of those things this afternoon. Now you'd better shape up, do what you're told, and lose the attitude,” Sam's voice is stern as he continues to apply his huge palm to your ass. 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” you cry out, squirming on his lap. Your butt is stinging, from the top all the way down to the undercurve. Sam's big paw can turn one whole cheek red after a couple well-placed swats, and he's already smacked every inch of your butt twice. 

“Dean, you want a turn? After all, she was rude to you at lunch,” Sam asks, and you turn your head to see that Dean has come back into the room. 

“Nah, it looks like you got it under control,” Dean says, walking over to get his coffee.

Sam loosens his hold on you just enough to tilt you further forward over his leg, and then he pins you down again. This time he concentrates the swats on the area where ass and thigh meet, landing a swat on the tops of your thighs every so often. This proves to be your undoing, and you start to cry. 

Sam pauses the spanking again. “Are you going to walk away when we've told you to stay with us?”

“N-no...D-dad,” your chest hitches.

“Are you done with the sass and attitude? You're going to be respectful from now on?” 

“Y-yes, I w-will, Dad,” you say, and then you whimper as his hand starts to fall again. He spanks every inch of your rear end again, and you wail as he lands the last few swats on the undercurve.

After he's let you lay there crying across his lap for a few minutes, he lifts you up to perch on his knee. He puts his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, and you clutch at his flannel shirt and sob. 

When you've calmed down, he leans forward and hands you some tissues, and you wipe your cheeks and blow your nose. Dean brings over the bag of food and hands you your coffee. “Here ya go, babygirl,” he says, sitting down next to you.

“I—I'm sorry I was rude before, Uncle Dean,” you tell him.

“All right, honey, thank you,” he smiles at you. 

The three of you work on learning about the history of the town for the rest of the evening, reading the brochures you'd picked up and looking at websites. There was a local 'neighborhood watch'-type of site that was mostly gossip, and a couple of websites about the local area and surrounding towns. 

You'd been reading the gossip site when you'd noticed a trend-- “It looks like there are a lot of complaints about teens causing mischief, and if you read between the lines, it seems like it's girls, and some of them hint at possible occult happenings. I've noticed a couple of people complain about finding burnt candle stubs and small bags of dried herbs in their front yards,” you tell the guys.

“Could be hex bags?” Dean asks. 

“If it's young girls, then either there could be a coven at the school, or it's someone trying to put the blame on the girls, to deflect attention from them. I'll go back and make a list of all the times someone lodged a complaint like this,” you say.

“and I'll check the police reports and see if anything suspicious was called in on or around those dates,” Sam says. 

“Geez, what if there really is a coven at the school?” you ask with concern. 

“That's why I've been saying we've got to be careful, y/n,” Sam says.


	5. First Day of School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, Dear Ones, it's the first day of school for our fair OC, and there's a lot going on! Will she be able to make it through the day without getting into some sort of trouble?   
> **********

As you walk through the hallways of the school next to Sam, you notice the glances and stares at him. His tallness draws the eye to him automatically, and then his handsome face just keeps you looking. And it seems like almost every single person in the halls is indeed looking at him. You take deep breaths to try and calm your nerves.

You walk together into the office- Principal Rhodes is standing behind the counter. “Doctor Young! And Miss Young, good morning!” he smiles at both of you, “How are we today?” 

Dean had chosen the last name of 'Young' for the three of you- when you'd asked why, he had said, “After Angus Young, the founder of AC/DC, duh!” (Of course, he had to choose the last name of a rock star!)

“Fine, and yourself?” Sam asks. 

“Can't complain, can't complain,” Mr. Rhodes nods. 

“We need to get y/n's class schedule, she's already filled out the necessary paperwork,” Sam says. You feel a pang of anxiety, you've always hated the first day of school.

“Oh yes, that's right. Susan, can you get y/n's schedule? And she'll need a map of the school as well,” Principal Rhodes turns to one of the women who is sitting behind a computer.

“Yes sir,” the woman says, leaning over and flipping through a huge binder. She pulls out a couple of papers and stands up, coming over to the desk. “Here's your schedule, dear, and a map of the school. You're on the second floor, each grade has a wing of the school that is exclusively theirs,” she glances at the paper, “Oh, except for math- you're in Advanced Trigonometry, so you're in the 10th grade wing, which is on the opposite side of the school. You'll need to hurry to get to that class, it's right after lunch.Your first class is English, room 212, midway down on the right side, second floor, Professor McTavish.”

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. 

A girl comes into the office, and Principal Rhodes looks at her disapprovingly. “Miss Barry, I trust I'm not going to see you in my office this week,” he says dryly. 

“Uh—n-no, sir,” the girls blushes and looks down. 

“Make sure it doesn't happen,” he tells her. She glances at us and leaves through the other door. 

A bell rings in the hallway and the principal looks at you. “Well, you'd better scamper off to class, don't want to be late on your first day!” 

“All right, thank you,” Sam says to him. He puts his hand on your back as you walk out the door that leads to the classrooms. “Let me see your schedule,” he says, taking the paper.

The two of you walk up the stairs, and your nervousness increases. 

“It looks like you have Dean in the afternoon, at the end of the day,” Sam tells you. 

“Oh, o-okay,” you say. 

He looks down at you. “What's up? Nervous?” 

You nod.

“You'll do fine,” he says with a smile. 

“Oh, I—I didn't get my locker combination!” you say.

“Well, you can go back later and get the information, you've got everything you need for now, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess...” 

You've reached the door of your classroom. There are girls milling around in the hallway and in the room. Sam walks in behind you, and everyone turns to look. 

He nods at the teacher, and walks up to her. “I'm Doctor Young, just starting today,” he shakes her hand. 

“Professor McTavish. Yes, I heard about you, I'll be interested to pick your brain later,” she says with a smile. 

“This is my daughter, y/n Young,” Sam introduces. 

“Hello,” you smile and nod at the teacher. Her returning smile is a little frosty. 

“Well, I'll let you get settled,” Sam says to you, then he drops a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Good luck today, I'll see you later,” he smiles. 

“Have a good first day,” you call to him as he leaves.

You notice a few of the girls watching him as he walks out. A couple of them are looking at you curiously. 

The bell rings and everyone sits down in their chairs. The class quickly quiets down as the teacher walks around behind her desk.

“Good Morning, class,” the teacher says.

“Good Morning, Professor McTavish,” the girls say as one.

“We have a new student with us today, y/n Young. Her father and uncle have also joined us, as part of the staff. Make sure that you welcome them to our family.”

She picks up a ruler and walks around the desk. “Inspection time,” she says, and everyone gets up and stands next to their desks, hands down at their sides, staring straight ahead.

The professor walks down each row, making comments about the students.

“Miss Farley, what is in your mouth?” her voice is hard.

“A—a cough drop, ma'am,” the girl says hoarsely.

“Spit it out. You don't have permission for that. One demerit.” 

“But I--”

“Are you talking back to me? Do you want to make it two demerits?”

“N-no, ma'am.”

The girl walks up to the front of the room and spits the lozenge into the trash can. She looks unhappy as she walks back to her seat.

“Miss Fitzgerald, your shoes still appear to be scuffed. We discussed this last week, did we not? Get them cleaned up. One demerit.” 

“Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am,” the girl says obediently, looking down at her shoes. 

When the professor gets to you, she pauses, looking you up and down. She reaches out with the ruler and flicks the little tie around your neck. “Miss Young, your tie is not straight.”

“Oh, I'm s-”

She interrupts you, “You're wearing inappropriate makeup and earrings. No bright eye shadow is allowed, and no lip gloss. Only stud earrings are permitted, no dangles, and hoops are to be one inch or smaller. Did you not read the student handbook about what was allowed?” She waves the ruler at your face as she speaks.

“Yes, I d-did--”

“Then are you deliberately flaunting the rules?” she looks down, “Those shoes are improper as well.” 

“I'm sorry,” you feel yourself blushing.

She sighs, tapping the ruler on her hand. “You know, you're already up to four demerits. However, since this is your first day, I will not assign you any demerits, this time. You will receive a written note that needs to be signed and returned. And I expect you to be in perfect accordance with the rules tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Professor McTavish,” you say.

“Go to the bathroom and wash the makeup off your face. Remove your earrings as well,” she tells you. 

You leave the room and hurry to the bathroom, wiping the lip gloss off your mouth and splashing warm water on your face. Thank god this makeup will come off with water! You take out your earrings and tuck them into the inside pocket of your backpack. So much for looking nice on your first day.

When you come back to the room, everyone is sitting down. You try your hardest to pay attention, while also sneaking looks at the students. 

Before you leave, Professor McTavish tells you, “You have to go to the office and get the note, at the end of the school day.” 

“Yes ma'am,” you say. Your stomach twists with nerves as you think about that- it's your first day, and you're already in trouble! You hadn't realized that the school was going to be so strict about everything! You're going to have to really watch everything you do here. 

During your next couple of classes, you keep your mouth shut and your head down, just taking everything in. You notice which girls seem to be in the same classes with you, and try to figure out who is friends with who. 

Right before the bell rings for the end of Science, the teacher gets a phone call. After she replaces the receiver, she looks at you. “Miss Young, you are to report to the front office before lunch.”

“Yes, ma'am, thank you,” you murmur. Your stomach gets nervous butterflies in it. Shit! Are you in trouble? What the hell could you be in trouble for now? You walk quickly to the office, your agitation mounting with every step.

Sam is standing at the counter again as you walk in, and his dimples light up his face as he smiles at you. “I forgot to give you your lunch money,” he tells you, putting his hand on your shoulder. “What's wrong?” he asks with concern.

“Nothing, I thought--” you exhale, “Well, y'know, getting called to the office is usually not a good thing!” 

Sam grins. “Yeah, you're right. Sorry, sweetheart,” he squeezes youe shoulder and lets go. He hands you a bill, and you tuck it into the outer pocket of your backpack.

“Make sure you eat healthy,” he says.

“I will,” you roll your eyes, and step over to give him a quick hug. “See ya,” you say, hurrying to the lunch room. 

As you're walking there, a couple of girls that you'd noticed in your other classes fall into step with you. “Who's that tall guy?” one of them asks. 

“That's, um, that's my Dad, he's a new teacher here,” you say, feeling shy. 

“Well he is fuckin' gorgeous!” one of the girls says. She's tall and thin, with long blonde hair. The other girl is a little taller than you, with a short brunette bob. 

“Uh-- thanks?” you say hesitantly, and the other girl smacks the blonde's arm. “Jules, that's her dad, she's not gonna think he's good-looking! Even though he is!”   
The brunette looks at you. “I'm Maggie, and that's Jules. She's a horn-dog.” 

“I am not!” Jules protests, “Well, maybe a little...” she smirks, “I can't help it if I like the D!” She flips her blond hair over her shoulder.

“Oh my gosh, Jules!” Maggie swats her arm again, blushing, and Jules laughs. 

“You're y/n, right?” Jules looks at you, “So where're you guys from?”

“We, um, we came from Kansas,” you say. 

“Why'd you come to this little podunk town?” Jules rolls her eyes.

“Oh...well, uh, my...dad is studying unusual American legends and he's interested in the Three Corners thing.”

“Ooh... demon and witches...so spoookyy...” Jules wiggles her eyebrows, but before you can ask her to elaborate, you have to get in the lunch line and there's no more time to talk.

“C'mon, you can sit with us,” Maggie says after the three of you have gotten your lunches. You follow them over to a table that's crowded with girls, and sit down at the end. They introduce you to several of the girls- a couple of them look familiar, you remember seeing them in your other classes. You sit and listen to the girls talking, trying to keep all the names straight. 

One of the other girls looks at you. “You need a tie pin,” she says, tapping her own tie. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You got in trouble for your tie this morning, and it's not straight again. They'll get after you for that—didn't they sell you a pin when you got your uniforms?” she raises her eyebrows. 

“Oh, uhh...no,” you reply, “Where can I get one?” 

“Sometimes they have some for sale in the front office, or there's a store downtown that sells them too,” a red-haired girl tells you, “For now, you can pin it with a safety-pin if you've got one.” 

“Here,” Maggie reaches into her purse, and removes a pin, “I'll do it, lift your chin.” She expertly pins your tie to your blouse. “Don't want you getting any more demerits today!”

“Would another teacher really give me a demerit for my tie not being straight?” you ask, a little surprised.

“Hell yeah! Some of these teachers love to pile 'em on, just to see us get into trouble. You really gotta watch your step with some,” one of the other girls pipes up.

“I—I thought that you could only get in trouble for that stuff at the inspection thing in the morning.”

Maggie shakes her head. “No, we're supposed to be learning about being presentable all the time, so the teachers can get on us about any part of our uniform at any time of the day.” 

“Make sure that your tie's straight, your blouse is tucked in, and your socks are not sagging,” the red haired girl says. 

“Oh, and McTavish hates it when clothing is wrinkled, so you better make sure you iron everything before you get dressed,” Jules tells you, with another eye roll.

A bell rings, and everyone stands up and starts to throw away their trash and take their trays to the kitchen window. 

“Hey, can you tell me where the Advanced Trig room is, in the 10th grade wing?” you ask Maggie. 

“Oh, I'm in that class too, c'mon,” Jules says, pulling on your arm. You walk with her up two flights of stairs, to a different wing. 

“This class has a mix of 9th and 10th graders in it. Just ignore the older girls, some of them are real snobs,” Jules mutters as you walk into the room. You barely recognize anyone else in this class, it seems like most of the girls are older. 

And finally it's the last class of the day. You hurry down the stairs to the ninth grade wing, and walk into your History class—the tall teacher behind the desk turns, and it's Dean! You had forgotten that he was going to be one of your teachers. His face lights up when he sees you, and he walks quickly over to you.

“There you are, I wondered when I'd be seeing you,” he says warmly, “How's it going?” 

“It's okay,” you say, smiling back at him. You feel such relief to see a familiar face, and to see him smile at you like that makes you feel warm inside. 

He puts his hand on your arm and gives it a little squeeze. “Go ahead and find a seat, y/n.”

One of the only seats is towards the middle of the room, and while Dean is talking, he catches your eye several times. You smile at him every time he looks at you. 

The bell rings, and Dean dimisses everyone. You stand up and walk to the desk. 

“What's the plan?” he asks you, “I've got to go talk to the principal about getting access to the storage areas.”

“Oh, we didn't—we didn't get a chance to make plans about the end of the day,” you tell him, “But I have to get my locker assignment.” 

“Then we can walk together,” Dean says, putting his hand on your back as the two of you walk through the halls. 

You remember just then that you're supposed to get the note about the demerits from the office too, but...you feel hesitant about telling Dean about that. Is he going to be pissed at you? 

The two of you walk into the office together. Sam is standing behind the counter, talking with the principal, and they both turn and look at you when you walk in. 

“There you are!” Sam says, smiling at you, “I realized that we forgot to figure out what happens at the end of the day.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, and then you look at Principal Rhodes, “I—I'm here to pick up a--a note?” 

Sam raises his eyebrows. 

“Ah yes, I heard about that, Miss Young. Step into my office,” Principal Rhodes says. 

You gulp and walk in. Sam and Dean follow you, looking concerned.

Sam looks at the principal questioningly. “What happened? Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem. During morning inspection it was discovered that Miss Young was... wearing some inappropriate items,” Principal Rhodes explains smoothly, “Professor McTavish decided not to assign any demerits, being that it's her first day. You'll need to sign and return the disciplinary note. And I trust that you will take care of any further discipline that needs to be meted out,” he looks at Sam.

“Yes, I will,” Sam says in a hard voice. 

The principal turns his attention to you. “Now, Miss Young, I understand that things were probably different at your previous school. I take it that you were in a public school setting?”

You nod. “Uh-- yeah-- yes, sir.” 

“Well, here at The Woolf Preparatory School for Girls, we pride ourselves on our appearance, and our adherence to school rules and policies. You might want to go home and re-read the handbook to familiarize yourself with everything, just to be certain, and make sure there isn't a repeat of your mistakes tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” you agree, glancing over at Sam and Dean. 

They are both gazing at you with identical stern looks, and you feel your stomach clench with nervousness. This does not bode well for you. 

Sam looks at the principal. “I apologize for my daughter's indiscretions, and you can be assured that she will not be repeating them.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Young. It's good to see a parent who is ready and willing to attend to—and correct—their child's mistakes. So often these days, you see parents who keep making excuses for misbehavior,” the principal smiles at Sam, offering his hand.

“Yes, mistakes are going to be corrected, all right,” Sam says dryly, and he shakes Mr. Rhodes's hand.

Principal Rhodes looks at Dean. “Well, you wanted to talk to me, sir?” 

“I need to do some things at the library,” Sam says to you. “We'll see you at home,” he tells Dean, and you follow him out of the office. 

“Here's your note,” an older woman who is standing at the counter says as you walk by. She hands you a piece of paper, and Sam takes it out of your hand. 

He's walking fast through the hallway, and you have to hurry to keep up. Crap, he seems pissed. He spins around when you walk into the library, and leans down to you. 

“Your first day here, and you're already in trouble?” he hisses, “You and I are going to have a serious discussion about this when we get home,” he grits out. 

“I'm sorry!” you protest.

“Go sit down at a table, I need to do some research. Get started on your homework,” Sam says curtly.

“Yes Dad,” you say, and you walk over to one of the tables. Homework? You don't want to do homework! That wasn't part of the deal when you agreed to this—sure, you'll act like a teenager and all, but just how far do you have to get into this character?

You pull a couple of textbooks out of your backpack and leaf through them, glancing at the papers that you were given throughout the day. Sam stands behind the librarian's desk, looking at things on the computer. Eventually, he is finished, and he shuts the monitor off and walks over to you.

“Let's go,” his voice is clipped. Damn, he still seems pissed! 

“So, uh, how was your first day?” you ask casually as Sam pulls the car out of the parking lot. 

“It was interesting,” he says, “There's a lot of details to keep track of.” 

He doesn't say anything else. The drive to your apartment is short, and you follow him up the stairs to your door. The Impala is already parked in its space across the lot. 

Dean is sitting at the table with a beer in his hand, and he stands up as both of you walk in. His and Sam's laptops are open and on.

“So how were things today?” he asks, looking at you. 

“Well, we know how it went in the morning,” Sam says, “I can't believe you, you get in trouble, first thing!” he says to you in an angry tone. 

Dean walks near the sofa, and points. “Sit,” he says tersely.

You perch on the edge of the sofa and clasp your hands in your lap, looking down at them. 

“Let me see that letter,” Dean says.

Sam removes it from his shoulder bag and hands it to him. Dean scans it, and then looks up at you, shaking his head. “Four demerits? For clothing and stuff? You're wearing a uniform, for god's sake!” 

You shrink down. “I—I'm sorry!” you blurt.

“I thought you said you'd read the handbook,” Sam says in a hard voice, “You spent yesterday working on getting into character, didn't you?” 

The day before, you had spent the day wearing the school uniform, to get used to it, and you'd glanced through the school handbook and the local history book that Dean had bought. The guys had been doing online research all day. 

“Yeah, I did, but I, uh--”

“Obviously you didn't read it thoroughly enough,” Dean says, “Four demerits is, what?” he leafs through the book, and then reads aloud, “Three level one offenses—which is 3 demerits-- in the same class period will result in written lines being assigned...blahblah...if up to three more offenses occur in the same time, detention will be assigned.” 

He looks at you. “So you would've gotten written lines, and possibly detention, on your first day?” he shakes his head, “Unbelieveable.” 

“You can't do this, y/n,” Sam says in a serious voice, “You can't start off on the wrong foot like this.”

“Look, I made a mistake!” you exclaim, “It's not like I did this on purpose, to be bad or anything! I said I was sorry!” 

Sam pulls a chair out from the table. “Well, you still need to be punished for it,” he unbuttons his shirt cuff and begins to roll up his sleeve. Oh, crap, you know what that means. You get a pang in your lower belly as you look at his muscular forearm.

“Uh, you gonna...make me write lines?” you try to joke weakly. 

Sam sits down in the chair and beckons you. “No, young lady. You're getting a spanking. Come here.” 

Your stomach drops. “B-but--” You look over at Dean. Somehow the idea of him being there while you're being punished makes you feel embarrassed. 

Dean puts his hands up. “Hey, I don't care. In fact, I'm still deciding if I'm gonna turn you over my knee after Sam's done spanking your ass. Now get over there.” 

You swallow, and walk over to stand in front of Sam, feeling your face flush red. 

“Why are we here?” he asks sternly. 

Oh god, is he going to make you talk about it like Dean does? You hate that, it's so humiliating to have to go over what you did wrong. 

“Young lady, answer me,” Sam says, his voice getting harder.

“Do we—do we really have to do this?” you ask weakly.

Sam sits up straight and puts his hands on his thighs. “Yes, y/n, we do. Now answer. Me,” his voice is like stone now.

“I, uh-- I—got in trouble at school,” you whisper. 

“For what?” Sam takes your chin in his hand and raises your head. “Eyes on me, little girl.” 

You raise your head and look at him. He's watching you intently. “I, uh, I got in trouble for, um, incorrect uniform stuff.”

“What 'incorrect unform stuff'?” Sam's eyes are boring into yours.

“I, uh, my tie wasn't straight, and I was wearing dangly earrings, and eye shadow and lip gloss, and uh, the wrong shoes,” you bite your lip nervously. 

“And the rules about what you're allowed to wear are clearly explained in the student handbook, aren't they?” 

You nod. “Uh, yes, D-dad.” 

“You had assured me yesterday that you read it...didn't you?”

Oh shit. You close your eyes, and nod.

“I want a verbal answer, y/n,” his voice is hard again.

“Yes, Dad,” your voice is barely a whisper now.

“So you lied to me.” 

“I—I--” you stutter. 

“So, not only did you lie to me about reading the handbook, which is prep work for your role in this investigation, you then broke more than one rule on the first day of school, causing you to get in trouble and have a note sent home. Does that about cover it?” 

Your blush deepens. “Y-yes, Dad.”

“And does all that warrant a punishment?” 

You don't want to reply, you don't want to admit it, that you should be punished for this. But you nod, your voice stuck in your throat. 

“I can't hear that,” Sam glares at you. 

“Y-yes, Dad,” your voice is very small.

“All right then,” he moves you over and pulls you down over his lap. God, you hate this position, over his lap while he's sitting in a chair. You're dangling there with only his thighs to support you, and your feet don't touch the ground. You feel helpless and like a small child.

He puts his arm across your lower back, pinning you there, and then his hand cracks down on your butt. You flinch and cry out as the spanking starts, a steady rhythm of swats that starts a burning sting on your ass. 

“Aaahh! Pl—please! D-dad! M'sorry, please!” The tears start as you twist and struggle, desperate to get out from under his hard palm and the punishing smacks that are raining down. 

You cry out as his huge hand starts its second circuit across your rear end. “Daaad! Pleeeease! No—no more! I'm s-s-sorryyyy!” 

Sam lands a few swats on the undercurve and the tops of your thighs. And then he stops, resting his hand on your lower back. 

“What are you going to do from now on?” he asks sternly.

“I—I--” your chest is heaving. “Owww!” you wail as his hand falls a couple more times. 

“Are you going to do what you're supposed to do?” he asks. 

“Y-yes, Dad!” 

He lands a couple hard smacks on your upper thighs, and you wail again.

“Are you going to lie any more?”

“N—no, no Dad! I won--” your plea is cut off as he spanks the undercurve again, hard, several times.

You lay there limp over his lap, sobbing, waiting for more swats, but they don't happen. 

Sam rubs his hand up and down your back a couple of times, and then he pulls you to a standing position. 

You expect that he's going to take you into his arms and hold you, but then you feel a hand on your shoulder, turning you. 

Dean is glowering at you, and he says, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't spank you as well.” 

“I—I-- Dad j—just spanked m-me!” you exclaim, your chest hitching. 

“Not good enough,” Dean growls, pulling you towards him. “You're being irresponsible, not taking your part seriously for the case. And that's gonna change, tonight,” he leads you over to the sofa and pushes you down over the arm. Your feet come off the floor, and you grab ahold of the cushion. Again, you're dangling there like a kid, and he puts his hand on your back, pinning you there.

“Noooo!” you wail as his hand starts to pepper your already sore ass, spanking and spanking you until your butt feels like it's on fire. 

He pulls you upright, and takes your arms in his hands. “You're gonna do what you're supposed to do, or we're gonna be here every night for a week, is that clear?” 

“Y-y-yes, U-Uncle D-dean,” you sob, and then he pulls you against his chest and lets you cry. You put your arms around him and cling to him as you sob. 

“All right,” you can feel Dean's hand in your hair, “It's all right, you're okay now, sweetheart,” his voice is gentle. You lean your head on his chest as he strokes your hair back from your face and rubs your back.

As you're calming down, you feel someone behind you. Dean lets you go, and Sam takes your arm and turns you, enveloping you in his arms. 

“Shh,” Sam says as you start to sob a little, again. He holds you close. “I know you can do the right thing,” he says, “You're gonna do fine, and you'll get into the swing of things. You're all right,” he comforts. 

“I'm gonna order Chinese for dinner,” Dean says, “We want the regular?” 

“Sounds good,” Sam agrees. 

“Yes, Uncle D-dean,” you sniffle, “Can I get some steamed dumplings too?”  
“Sure, honey,” Dean says. 

Sam lets you go. “Did you get a lot of homework on your first day?” he asks. 

“Yeah, some,” you reply, “What are we going to do as far as the investigation? Did you guys come up with any potential suspects today?”

“Not really, we're still learning who's who,” Sam says, walking over to the table. He opens his bag and pulls out a pile of folders. 

“What do you need me to do?” you ask, eager to help out. 

“You can do the homework and read the handbook,” Sam tells you, giving you a look. 

“But—I want to help you,” you protest.

“The best way you can help right now is by playing your role, to perfection,” Dean comes over to you, “And that means being a perfect A-plus student. So get to it.” 

You sigh, and walk over to your backpack. “If I get finished soon enough, can I help you?” 

“We'll see,” Sam says. He and Dean sit down with their laptops, and soon they are deep in conversation and research.


	6. Day of Demerits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have gone from bad to worse for our fair OC, I'm afraid... she's gotten herself in hot water with the school and Sam and Dean... 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Chapter contains a punishment paddling which some could construe as harsh.  
> ***************  
> Just a note, Laurel Burch is a real artist who draws interesting stylized illustrations of cats- look her up!
> 
> *****************

The teachers are to be at the school before the students, so the next morning Sam leaves early, and you go with him. You need to stop by the office and get your locker info anyway. 

The doors are locked and it's somewhat dark when you get there. Sam unlocks the front door and lets you in. The front office is completely empty and dimly-lit, and you follow Sam down the hall towards the library. Besides the classes that Sam is teaching, he's going to be a part-time librarian, so that he can get into the computer system and look at all the books and information that the library has. 

The library is at the end of the hallway, and there are a couple of doors open with teachers in their rooms, moving around and getting things ready for the day. 

As you near the library, you hear the repetitive smacking sound that can only mean one thing- someone is getting spanked. There's a classroom with an open door just across from the library, and as you get closer, you realize the sound is coming from classroom. 

Sam pulls out a ring of keys and starts to fiddle with it, trying to find the key to the library doors. 

You hear a girl's voice cry out, “Oh! No, mama, not the ruler please, no!” and then a wail. 

You turn, and look into the doorway of the classroom. A grim-faced woman is sitting on the edge of the teacher's desk, with a girl pinned face down across her lap. The girl's skirt is up around her waist and her panties are just above her knees. Her bared bottom is bright red from the top all the way down to the middle of her thighs. The woman has a wooden ruler in her hand, and as you watch, she brings it down on the girl's bottom with a loud crack. The girl's whole body flinches and she cries out. 

“Got it,” Sam says, unlocking and opening the door. He glances back and sees what's going on in the room across the hall, and the two of you walk into the library. 

“I was going to open the doors up, but I guess I'll wait until it's quiet,” he says. The girl across the hall is crying loudly now and the sound of the spanking echos off the walls.

You wander around the library, absently pulling books off of shelves and looking through them, while Sam boots up the computer and starts to look through it. You see other people start to walk through the hall past the library. Someone turns the lights on in the hallway.

Sam raises his head and looks at you. “It's quarter of, someone should be in the front office by now. I'll walk you over.” 

You shoulder your backpack and follow him out the library doors. The hallway is now full of students and teachers. 

“Good morning, Dr. Young!” a girl calls out as you walk past, and there are giggles behind you. You look up at Sam and see him shaking his head.

 

When you get to the office, Principal Rhodes is once again standing there by the front counter. “Well, good morning!” he says with a smile.

“I, um, I forgot to get my locker assignment yesterday,” you say. 

“Oh my goodness, that's right. You need a locker to store some of those heavy textbooks in. Susan, could you see to that?” Mr. Rhodes turns to the woman who is once again sitting at her desk. 

Sam nudges you. “Don't forget the letter,” he murmurs. 

“Oh, yeah,” you take your backpack off and open it, pulling out the disciplinary letter and handing it to Mr. Rhodes. He glances over it and looks at you. “Thank you. I trust we won't have a repeat today?” 

"No, sir,” you say quietly, “I, um, I also need a tie pin-- I was told that sometimes there are some for sale here?” 

“Hmm, yes, let's see...” Mr. Rhodes looks over at the woman who has come over to you with a small card. “Susan—tie pins? Are there any left?” 

She peers at him over her glasses, perched on the end of her nose. “I'll check in a moment, sir,” she looks at you, “This locker is in the ninth grade hallway, but I couldn't give you one near your homeroom class, there weren't any left, so this is at the other end of the hall, further down. Closer to the 400s.” 

“Thank you,” you tell her, tucking the card with the combination into your backpack.

She walks over to a drawer and unlocks it, and then pulls it open. “You're in luck, we've got one tie pin left. It's $10.00, you want to buy it now?” 

Sam pulls out his wallet. “Yes, I do. Can't have her getting into any more trouble.” 

Susan walks back to you and hands the pin over, taking Sam's money. “You know how to put it on?” she looks at you, and then Sam. 

“Is it the same as a tie tack?” Sam asks.

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Rhodes replies. 

“I'll get it,” Sam turns to you and take the pin out of your hand. “Lift,” he taps your chin, and you raise your head. He straightens your tie and pins it to your blouse.  
“There we go,” Sam smiles at you. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“You'd better get to your locker, so that you can make sure you can open it before the first class. Don't want to be late,” Principal Rhodes says. 

“Good idea. Do you want me to go with you, to help you figure it out?” Sam asks you.

You give him a look. “I know how to work a combination lock!” 

He raises his hands “All right, all right, I was just offerering!” he shakes his head.

Mr. Rhodes chuckles. “Teenagers—think they know everything, don't they?”

You give Sam a quick hug. “Bye, Dad, see you later.”

“Come to the library when school is out, that's where I'll be,” Sam tells you, “Have a good day."

“Okay, Dad, you too,” you hurry off to find your locker. It takes you a few tries, but you finally get your locker open. 

When you walk into home-room, Jules comes over to you. “Hey, girl,” she says.

“Good morning,” you say, feeling awkward. 

“How's Dr. Hottie?” Jules asks with a smirk.

“What?” 

“Your dad!” Jules glances at one of the other girls, and says, “Her father's that new teacher, the tall one with the dreamy hair!” she points at you, and you start to blush.

A couple of the other girls come over to you quickly. “Oh my gawd, he is SO hot!” a brown-haired girl enthuses.

“I could, like, look at him all day!” a short girl giggles behind her hand.

“How do you stand it, living with that gorgeousness?” a third girl says, smacking your arm.

“Um, he's, y'know, my father,” you say, feeling shy. 

The bell rings and the class scrambles to their seats. Once again, after saying good morning, it's Inspection time. 

Professor McTavish walks through the rows with her ruler, looking everyone over. She stops when she gets to you. 

She looks at your tie and your face. You've applied foundation, a little bit of blush, a smidgen of eyeliner, and a lipstick that's slightly darker than your natural lip color.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods with approval, but then she looks at the side of your head. “Miss Young, is that a cartoon character?” she gestures to your earring. 

“Um, no, it's—it's just a cat,” you tell her.

She puts the ruler on your chin and turns your head slightly. “Your earrings don't match. One demerit. What is this, Miss Young?” her voice is stern.

“They-- they're not supposed to, it's a cat and a dog, it's from a series--”

“So it is a cartoon.” 

Wearing anything that has characters from popular culture is not permitted, whether it's a cartoon character or a superhero. “No!” you exclaim loudly, “It's not!”

She seems taken aback. “You want to watch your tone, young lady!” she snaps. 

“It's-- the animals are drawn by this artist, Laurel Burch. They're not cartoons, I swear!” you say quickly, “She's an illustrator, the cats are on greeting cards and stuff, look it up!”

She folds her arms and looks at you for a long moment. “All right then. One demerit for disrespect.” 

Shit! “But I--”

She glares at you. “Do you want to make it two demerits for disrespect and arguing?”

“N-no, ma'am, I—I'm sorry,” you say. Oh crap, Sam and Dean are going to be so pissed at you! 

After everyone sits down, roll is called, and then the professor asks for homework to be collected. Everyone pulls out their binders and passes their papers forward. Crap...you hadn't done any of the homework. Really, you'd been hoping that the guys wouldn't make you do any, I mean, you aren't really a 16 year old student, you're a hunter... how can you be expected to work on this case and do a bunch of homework? 

Professor McTavish collects all the papers and spends a couple of minutes going through them. Then she looks up and starts calling out names. “Miss Whitman. Miss Morton. Miss Young.” The other girls stand up when she calls their names, so you do too. 

“I'm missing homework from each of you.” 

“Yes, Miss, I went--” one of the other girls starts to say.

“Quiet!” Professor McTavish raps out, “I don't want to hear excuses! One demerit for each of you!” She walks around to the side of her desk and enters something into her computer.

Your head is spinning. How in the world did you manage to get two demerits in your first class? You'd better keep your head down and try to just get through the day.

 

By lunchtime you're ready to find a corner, curl up in it, and just cry. You'd gotten another demerit for not having your science homework, and you're realizing that the school is serious about this. 

In the Computer Lab class, you were bored, because you already know how to use a computer, and you were chatting with one of the other students. You got spoken to twice and scolded, and had almost earned another demerit. 

Then you got yelled at in Physical Education for not having tennis shoes to change into. You had to sit out on the sidelines, not that you minded that, but again, you were threatened with demerits and having to write lines if you forgot again. 

You run into Maggie and Jules while walking to the lunch room again, and the three of you go through the lunch line together. Jules leads you over to the same table you sat at yesterday, and you join the crowd of girls sitting there. 

“So, you gonna go to the dance this Saturday?” Maggie looks at you.

“Um, dance? Here?” you ask.

“No, well, it's sponsored by the school, but it's held at the Community Center in town, and it's a dance for us, and the local High School. We're supposed to mingle with the regular kids and, y'know, meet some boys,” Maggie wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Ohhh myyy there he iiiiiiss,” one of the other girls hisses, and everyone turns. Dean is walking towards the lunch line.

Jules lets out a low whistle. “Mm, mm, he is easy on the eyes!” 

“Isn't he related to that other new teacher?” the red-haired girl pipes up. Her name is Britt, you think? 

“Yeah, they're brothers,” you pipe up.

All the heads turn towards you expectantly.

“Wh-what?” you say.

“Well, tell us, girl!” Jules smacks your shoulder, “what's it like, being around all that—male-ness all the time? Do you just...melt?” she bats her eyelashes, and a couple of the girls laugh. 

“Um, no, 'cause they're y'know, my father and uncle, and that's just--” 

“Ooh, I read this erotic story once that this person wrote about her and her sexy uncle!” a tall girl exclaims, and the whole table erupts in laughter. 

You feel yourself blushing- of course, you've noticed the guys, and their male-ness, and how handsome they are. You've had day-dreams-- and regular dreams, about them. But you're all hunters, and you work together, and when you're stalking and killing creatures of the night there's no time to think about sex or physical attraction. And now, you have to pretend that none of that matters to you. 

You clear your throat once everyone has calmed down. “So anyway...this dance? Tell me about it?” 

“So yeah, you can buy tickets at the front office, it's like 5 dollars. They sell food and soda there, so bring some cash with you,” Britt tells you. 

“Think you'll be able to go?” Maggie asks. 

“Um, I guess,” you say.

“My mom's all 'do all your chores this week or you can't go to the dance', I'm like, 'yeah, Mom, whatevs, Dad'll give me money and let me go',” Britt rolls her eyes. 

Jules looks at you. “Britt knows how to negotiate and play her parents off of each other like a pro!” 

“Yeah, well it helps that they hate each other and I only see my dad once a month. Then I can play the pitiful card with him,” Britt says carelessly. 

The bell rings, and everyone stands up to get rid of their trash and turn in their trays. You aren't feeling quite so bad any more. Maybe you can go to the dance and get to know some of the other teens in the area, learn about their families. Then you can help the guys start to figure out what's going on in this town.

 

Sweat is running down your back in a trickle and your stomach is twisting with nerves. You were late to Math class because your damn locker got stuck, and you couldn't open it. And of course, you had to go through the humiliation of standing when it was announced that you hadn't turned in homework. 

“Take out your books and turn to page 41,” the teacher announces. 

You lean over and unzip your backpack, starting to rifle through it. You've just received two demerits in this class, how many is that so far today? And then you realize...your Trig textbook is not in your bag. 

“Son of a bitch!” you mutter, but it happens to be quiet, and everyone in the class hears you. 

Footsteps walk quickly up the aisle and stop next to you, and you sit up and look up at the teacher. Her name is Professor Kirkland, and you've heard murmurs that she's a real hardass in class, with academics, behavior, and everything. 

“Miss Young!” she snaps, “what—did I hear—you—say?” 

“Uh—I--I'm sorry, Miss-”

“Answer the question!” 

“I, uh, I said...son of a bitch,” you say quietly, lowering your eyes to the desk, “I—I don't seem to have my textbook. I'm sorry.” 

“I see.” She spins on her heel and stalks up to the front of the room, walks around her desk, and types something into the computer.

Your face is burning with embarrassment. Her fingers are clicking on the keyboard again and she looks at the screen. Looks at you. Types something else. She straightens up. “Miss Young, you are to report to the office for paddling. Take your things with you.” She scrawls something on a small yellow slip of paper and holds it to out. 

“I—I—what?” you're stunned.

“You've just earned 5 demerits in this class- you were late, you did not turn in homework, and you don't have your textbook, all of which are one demerit each. Then you cursed, which is two demerits. That, combined with the others you've received today, means that you need to go to the principal's office.”

You gather your belongings, zip your backpack, and slowly walk up to the desk, taking the slip of paper she hands you. And then you walk out the door.

 

Shit, damn, and fuck! Do you have to go through with this? How can you get out of it? You consider trying to call Sam or Dean, and seeing if they'll defend you. Oh crap, they're probably going to be really pissed off! Shit! Maybe you should just make a break for it, run out a side door and off into the distance? No, you can't do that, you can't risk messing things up for the guys. Better to just face things and deal with it. 

 

You walk into the office, and Susan glances up from her desk. “Have a seat,” she says. You sit down on the bench next to the Principal's office and sling your backpack onto the floor. 

Sam comes into the office just then, and sees you. He looks concerned-- and angry as he comes over. “What's going on?” his voice is pitched low.

You stand up. “Dad, I--” your stomach twists with nerves.

The office door opens, and Mr. Rhodes says, “Dr. Young, come into my office for a moment, so we can talk.” 

Sam gives you one last look, and then he walks into the office. The door closes behind him. Fuck! Now butterflies start to dance in your belly.

In a couple of minutes, the door opens, and Sam gestures you in to the room.

The principal is sitting behind his desk. “Miss Young, why don't you tell us in your own words why you're here.” he steeples his hands in front of him.

Oh, shit, you have to admit to everything. You take a deep breath, and begin. “Well, I-- this morning, during inspection, Professor McTavish asked about my earrings and she was insisting that they're cartoon characters. I know that's not allowed, and I tried to explain that these are-- drawings, by an artist. She—took offense—at the way I was talking to her, I guess, and gave me a demerit,” you feel yourself start to sweat again.

He nods. “All right. And then?”

A blush is heating up your face. “I--I didn't... have my homework.” 

He nods again. “What next?”

“I—didn't... have my homework... for science or math,” you drop your eyes to the floor. 

“And what else happened in math?” 

“I was late—my locker is jammed, I couldn't open it! That—that shouldn't be my fault!” you protest, “And then-- I realized I didn't have my textbook, and I—I cursed out loud.” 

“You realize that all of those offenses equal 8 demerits,” he glances at his computer screen, “Do you have your history homework for today?”

“Um, n-no sir,” you risk a quick glance at Sam. He looks absolutely livid. 

“So that's 9 demerits in one day. So far this week, you would have racked up 13 demerits if the Professor had made them stick yesterday. That's pretty impressive for a new student, I must say. Well, Professor McTavish cut you some slack yesterday, but I'm afraid I can't extend that courtesy again. However, your father and I have... negotiated things, and your punishment will be somewhat...reduced,” he leans back in his chair and looks at you, “Normally this would equal a paddling of 7 strokes. Your father is going to spank you here, in the office, and then he will be the one to punish you, giving you four strokes with the paddle.” 

“F-four?” you ask, your mouth going dry. You turn to Sam. “P—please, C-can't we talk about this?” you implore him, grabbing on to his arm. 

Sam glares down at you, and that little muscle in his jaw tics. Oh shit, he is really pissed off. 

“Prinical Rhodes, is there a place where I could talk privately with my daughter?” Sam asks in a hard voice. 

“Yes, go out the door, and turn right down that hall. Second door down is a conference room.” 

Sam takes your arm. “Come with me.”

You walk next to him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. He flicks the lights on in the room and closes the door hard, then turns to you, looming over you. 

“What—the hell—are you DOING?” his voice gets loud for just that one word, and then he stops himself, and runs his hands through his hair in agitation. He turns and walks away from you, and you see his back expand as he takes a deep breath. 

He turns back and walks towards you again. “You didn't do any of your homework last night? Huh?” 

You take steps backwards, away from him, as he advances towards you. “Uh—uh-- I—I--”

“If you're trying to come up with an excuse or a lie, save it,” he says bitterly, “I told you that you had to do homework, that was part of the deal. And you didn't do any of it?”

You shake your head no.

He sighs again, angrily. “Jesus-- this is not good, you know, what happened to flying under the radar and not getting noticed? Now they're going to be watching you for more misbehavior!”

“I—I'm sorry, Dad!” you burst out.

“You know, I'm getting tired of hearing you say that, “ he says in a hard voice, “I am SO angry at you right now, I could—I could paddle your ass now, and then later in the office as well!” 

“I—I--” your eyes fill with tears, “Please, Dad, don't—don't paddle me, can't you talk to the guy and renegotiate, or tell him you'll paddle me at home, and then we can just—say you did it?” 

“No, little girl, you've earned this. You've more than earned this. I only talked him down to four strokes because I know you've never been paddled before, and it's going to be rough.”

You swallow. “It—it is? How? I mean-- can't you-- isn't there a way where you can, you know, go light on me, like not hit me that hard?” 

He shakes his head. “That paddle's heavy, on purpose, so that it packs a wallop. It's made that big and long, for the express purpose of inflicting pain. It's going to hurt, no matter if I just give you a light pop with it or smack you with a full swing.” 

“Oh my God,” you grab ahold of his arm, “Please, please don't do this!” you beg him. 

“I can't get you out of this,” he shakes his head, “And you should be glad it's me doing it and not your teacher, or Rhodes. Normally it'd be him doing it, but I'm not going to let that happen.” 

Tears begin to pour down your cheeks. “Please, Dad—I--I'm scared,” your chest hitches, as you realize that you are scared, scared out of your mind about this. 

Sam looks down at you, and then shakes his head again. His face softens, and he pulls you to him and puts his arms around you. “I keep forgetting that not everyone was raised like I was. I could've taken a school paddling, no problem.”

You look up at him. “Could you take mine?” you sniffle.

He chuckles. “No, but I can try and go easy. I can't promise anything, he's going to expect me to hit you, and he'll know if I'm pulling my strokes at the last second. It's gonna be rough, but...you'll just have to take one for the team.” 

You lean your head on his chest. “You're gonna owe me.” 

“Excuse me?” he puts his finger under your chin and makes you look at him. “Who's the one who didn't do any of their homework last night? Oh, that's right, it's you. We're going to need to have a serious talk about this when we get home, young lady.” 

You feel your face get red again, and a pang in your belly when he says that. “Dad--”

“No, I don't want to hear anything else from you right now,” Sam lets you go, “Come on, we've got to go deal with this.” 

You grab his arm again, feeling scared. “D-dad, please, I don't-- please, can't you talk to him again? And get me out of this?”

He looks down at you. “No, I can't. Let's go.” 

He opens the door, and you walk back up the hall with him, wiping the tears out of your eyes. 

The office door is closed now. 

Susan looks up from her desk. “He got an important phone call, and he'll be in there for a while. You should go back to class for now.”

Sam looks at you- you can't seem to stop crying. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head wordlessly. 

“He wanted to know if you could—deal with things at the end of the school day?” Susan asks Sam.

He nods at her, and then looks back at you. “Uh- she's, um, not—she's still crying.” 

“It's almost last period, I guess she can sit here until school's over,” Susan says.

“All right, thank you.” Sam says, then he leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Hold tight, and I'll be back.” 

You sit down on the bench next to the door, and pull a tissue out of the box that's on the little table next to it. The bell rings and you see students in the hallway walking to and from the next class. You're missing the last class of the day, and you wonder if Dean is concerned about where you are. 

You sit there, worrying, fear twisting in your stomach, eyes tearing up every so often, listening to the clicking of computer keys and Susan talking on the phone occasionally. You get up to use the restroom, and splash cold water on your face after you've washed your hands. 

Finally the last bell of the day has rung, and people flood the hallways. Sam comes walking into the office, followed a moment later by Dean. 

Dean looks at Sam, and then at you. “What the he--”

The office door opens, and Principal Rhodes is standing there. “Dr. Young? Miss Young? Are we ready?” 

“I'd like to come in too, she's my niece,” Dean says, and he follows you into the room, closing the door behind him.

Tears have sprung into your eyes again, and you twist the tissue that you're holding in your hands. 

You set your backpack down next to a chair. 

Sam takes his suit jacket off and lays it over the back of the chair, and then unbuttons one sleeve and begins to roll it up. And then, he does the same to the other sleeve. Oh shit, this is going to be bad if he's rolling up both sleeves! 

“Normally, we would have the student leaning over the table, but Dr. Young wanted to administer the first part of the punishment on the sofa,” Mr. Rhodes says. You see that the paddle is laying on his desk. 

He brings a small, low table around his desk, and sets in in front. You've noticed that each classroom has a small table like this, usually behind or next to the teacher's desk. This must be where the paddling takes place. 

Mr. Rhodes walks over to stand next to Dean near the door.

Sam sits down on the sofa, and beckons you to him. You wipe your face one last time and walk over to his right side. He reaches up and takes your wrist, guides you down over his lap. He moves you so that your torso is resting on the sofa, and you turn your head away, so that it's facing the back of the sofa. 

Sam takes your hand, and holds it on your lower back, placing his arm on your back to pin you in place. “All right, ready?” he asks.

The first swat is loud in the quiet room, and you inhale sharply, tears filling your eyes again. You're mortified that you're being spanked in this room in front of Dean and another man.

Sam spanks you steadily, with the briefest of pauses between each blow, until he's covered every inch of your rear end. By the time he's started the second round, you're sobbing. The swats fall harder and faster this time around, until you're whimpering with each smack. You're clutching the fabric of the sofa in your hands by now. He lands several hard spanks on your sit spots, and you cry out with the last couple. He lets your wrist go, and puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. 

“Hand me the paddle,” he says.

Principal Rhodes clears this throat. “Uh, I'm sorry, Dr. Young, but- you won't be able to get a good swing from that position. The—length of the paddle is such that the best way to use it is standing behind the student. That's why we have the tables in each room.” 

“Oh,” Sam says. He pats your back, and then helps you to stand up. 

Principal Rhodes comes over, proffering a tissue box, and you remove a couple and wipe your face and blow your nose. 

“You'll have enough of an area to swing if you stand here,” he motions in front of his desk. 

Sam clears his throat. “All right,” he says, looking at you.

“Come around here,” Principal Rhodes says to you, and motions to the table. 

You slowly walk around the table.

“Lay across it, and hold the far edge,” he says. 

He walks back over near the door as Sam walks behind you. 

You lay your torso down on the little table and grab ahold of the edge, lowering your head onto your arms.

“Uh--” Sam clears this throat again, “I'm—I'm going to lift her skirt, so that I can-- see what I'm doing, where to, uh, place the—the blows.” 

You inhale as he lifts your skirt and places it on your lower back.

You hear a footstep as he moves behind you, and you close your eyes. For just a second, you feel the hard wood against your panty-clad bottom, and then it's removed.

And then there's a loud 'WHAP!' and a burning pain lands on both cheeks, and you jump up with a shriek, bursting into tears. Holy shit, it hurts! 

You gaze up at Sam through your tears, and start to plead. “D—Dad, pleasepleaseplease-- don't, don't do this--” your hands have gone back to cup your burning buttocks, to try an alleviate the sting. 

“Miss Young,” Principal Rhodes steps forward, “Get back in position. Miss Young,” he says louder, “Back in position now.” 

“Get away from me!” you spin towards him, and snarl. 

“Dr. Young, if she won't stay down--” 

Sam puts his hand on your arm. “Come on, you can do this,” he says gently, “You can get through this.” 

You nod, and try to stop the sobs gasping out of your throat. You step over to the table again, and lean forward.

Again, Sam lifts your skirt. Again, the paddle falls, and the sound reaches your ears a split second before you feel the awful sting, and again, you spring up with a shriek, unable to stay still. 

You throw yourself at Sam. “Please, no more, no more, please, I promise--” 

“Miss YOUNG!” the principal's voice is loud. “That is ENOUGH! You MUST hold position during your punishment, or it's not going to count!” 

He looks at Sam. “If she won't stay down, then someone will have to-- assist-- her. We have permission forms for that, giving permission for a staff member to restrain the child during a punishment--” 

“Oh for God's sake,” Dean walks over. He takes your arm. “Sammy, get ready, I'll hold on to her.” 

Dean leads you over to the table, and you lay your body over it again, taking hold of the far edge. Dean puts a hand on each shoulder, pressing you down onto the table. 

You feel Sam moving the fabric of your skirt. “That was two,” he says, “you have two left, y/n.”

“When a student breaks position it is customary to start the punishment over. She broke position twice, but-- I will allow you to give her one extra stroke instead of two,” Principal Rhodes says.

You hear the 'WHAP!' and feel the searing pain in your ass, and you screech and try to fight against Dean. He holds you still. 

You lift your head and look up at him. “Please, Uncle Dean—please-- let me go!” you beg, “I'll be good, please, I promise--” 

He shakes his head at you and presses his lips together.

You're in the middle of saying “plea--” when the paddle lands again, and you scream, not expecting it. That swat was right below the other ones, and now most of your ass is a stinging inferno. 

“One more,” Sam says.

You close your eyes and hold your breath. This stroke lands right on the under curve, and you scream again, and rise up on your toes. Your whole rear end is scorching hot. 

Dean releases you and pulls you up and around the table, enveloping you in his arms tightly. You grasp his shirt like you're drowning, bawling into his chest, not caring who hears you crying like a baby.

You hear Principal Rhodes talking to Sam, and Sam replying to him, but you can't hear what they're saying over your sobs. And you don't care. 

“Shh,” Dean murmurs into your hair, stroking your hair, “I gotcha, babygirl, it's over now. Okay, sweetheart, I gotcha.” His strong arms hold you tightly to him.

You feel another hand on your back, and Sam is there, and he takes you in his arms. “It's all done now, it's over,” he murmurs, “I'm sorry. Shh, it's over,” He rubs the back of your head as you shudder with sobs.

 

It takes you a while to calm down. By the time you leave the building, the front office is dark. You walk to the parking lot between the brothers, Sam with his arm around your shoulders and Dean carrying your backpack. 

Dean stops when you get to Sam's car. “I'll see you in a few minutes, I'll stop and grab something for dinner,” he tells you. Then he fixes you with a stern gaze. “Y/n, I hate to say this, but we've got to have a discussion about all this when we get in. I want to know what the hell happened today.” 

Your eyes fill with tears. “I—I didn't do my homework,” you admit.

Dean looks at you disapprovingly. “I know,” his voice is hard, “And trust me, we're going to have a discussion about that as well.” 

“Uh, what—what's to discuss? I—I messed up,” you say.

“Oh, it's not a gonna be a discussion with our mouths. It's gonna be a discussion between my hand and your ass. I'll see you in a few.” with that, Dean turns and walks away.

Sam unlocks the door, and you ease yourself into the front seat, wincing when you put your full weight on your butt. You lean your head on the window as Sam drives to the apartment building, dreading what's going to happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what's going to happen when they get home?


	7. The Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
> Please take a moment to read ALL the tags in the summary, and any content warnings that I put at the beginning of a chapter.  
> Just a reminder: This fic will have Non-Consensual spanking and other punishments in it. It will have spankings with implements. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, then hit the back button and go in peace.  
> *********

SCHEDULE:  
1st period: Homeroom/English  
2nd period: Science  
3rd period: MON: Art History/ TUE & THU: Computer Lab/ WED: Music History/ FRI: Study Hall  
4th period: MON-THU: Physical Education/ FRI: Library  
LUNCH  
5th period: Math (Advanced Trigonometry)  
6th period: History (Civics/Government)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The first thing you do when you get into the apartment is check your rear end in your bedroom mirror. Much to your surprise, the skin is just pink. From the way the paddling felt, you would have expected there to be bruising all over. 

You change out of your uniform, into a t-shirt on and a pair of soft fleece pants. No panties, the elastic rubs against the tender skin of your ass and it's uncomfortable.  
When you walk back out the the living room, Sam is standing by the table, rubbing his neck and looking stressed.

“I'm sorry,” you walk over to him, “I know you're tired of hearing me say that, but I am sorry...maybe I should just leave, and go back to the bunker so I don't screw the investigation up.” Tears come to your eyes at the thought of leaving.

“No, we don't want you to leave,” he says earnestly, taking your hands in his, “Look, being undercover is hard. Getting into character is hard too...that's probably one of the hardest parts of doing something like this. But you can do this. We'll help you, okay?” 

You sniffle and nod, and he leads you over to the sofa and sits down, pulling you to sit on his lap. “C'mere,” he puts his arm around you and you tuck your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

“That was rough today,” he comments, leaning his head on yours. 

“Yeah, it was,” you agree. 

“How's your butt? Still hurt?”

You shift on his lap. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt like you thought it would. “It's a little sore, not as bad as I thought. The way it sounded, and the way it felt...I thought I'd have bruises.”

Sam gives a slight chuckle. “Nope, I tried to go easy, I used my wrist instead of my whole arm.” 

You look up at him. “What do you mean?” 

“If you use your whole arm to swing, it's like hitting a baseball with a bat, you know? You hit a lot harder. But if you slow it down, during the down swing, and use your wrist, the blow falls a lot lighter.” Sam holds his arm up and moves his wrist in a flicking motion. “Like that, see? And the result is that it still stings when you get hit, but there isn't the same residual pain that there is if you get a full-force blow with the arm. With that, you can get bruising, and deep muscle pain.” 

“Oh. How do you know so much about it?”

“Well...I went with a friend to a fraternity thing in college, and they were paddling new recruits. I let them paddle me, to see if I could take it.”

“You let a frat boy paddle you?” you say in disbelief.

He shrugs. “Yeah, the guy didn't know what he was doing. And, I looked some stuff up.” 

“Of course, you had to research it!” you laugh. It's a joke between all of you that Sam has to research everything. 

“Well, I wanted to find out how to wield a paddle, in case I had to while we're here, and do it in such a way that I'd cause the least amount of damage. And see, I applied the knowledge that I learned, and your butt barely hurts now because of it!” 

“Yeah, thanks for nothing, it was still scary as hell.” 

“That's part of the reason they make the paddle so big, it's a psychological technique, to scare and intimidate you. And then you're thinking it's going to be really painful, so your mind kinda takes the pain you experience and runs with it, and the whole thing is this huge overblown deal.”

“Are you saying that it wasn't as bad as I'm saying?” 

“No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that it's scary and stressful when it's happening, but a lot of it had to do with the situation too, y'know, being in the principal's office and all that.”

“I'm just glad it's over,” you snuggle into his chest. 

“Yeah, me too. I don't like that principal, and I told him that if you need to be paddled, it's going to be by me or Dean only. I don't trust the guy,” Sam tightens his arms around you. 

“Thanks,” you say. The two of you sit together, snuggling quietly, for a while. Sam rubs your back occasionally and plays with your hair. You relax in his arms and enjoy the closeness with him. 

You hear the key in the lock, and Dean comes in with a white paper bag that smells like hot food and grease. “Chowtime,” he says. 

You get up off of Sam's lap, and the two of you go over to the table and sit down. 

Dean has brought subs for you- cheese-steak for him, meatball for you, and a gyro for Sam, with a large bag of thick potato wedges and another bag of battered onion rings. 

“Sometimes, ya gotta have grease,” Dean says, taking a bite of his sub. 

“These onion rings are great,” you agree. 

“How're you doing?” Dean asks, “How's your ass?”

“Um, it's-- kinda sore,” you start to blush, “It hurt like hell when it was happening, and I thought I'd have, y'know, bruises, but I don't.”

Dean nods. “Most of that was just a head trip for the intimidation factor. I've faced down principals like that before, and they want you to be all scared, because the anticipation makes it worse in your mind. And Sam would make sure he wasn't really hurting you.” He crumples the paper that his sandwich was wrapped in. “Now, we need to talk about how you ended up in the office today.” he raises his eyebrows, and you feel yourself blushing harder.

“Yeah, I—I didn't do the homework, and I'm sorry! I just—I don't think it's fair!” you protest.

Dean leans back and folds his arms, fixing you with a stern look. “And why isn't it fair?”

“That I have to do homework! I thought I was supposed to be hunting with you, not-- not doing all this-- busy work!”

“But you're a student at the school, it's your job to do homework and all that, it's part of your role.” Sam says.

“I haven't been in school in, I don't know how many years? I can't remember high school grammar or trigonometry or the branches of government! It's going to take me hours to get through all the work, and I'm probably going to fail everything!” You fold your arms over your chest.

Dean takes a drink of his soda, “All right, I see your point. We'll figure something out to help you with that...maybe I can get into the school's computer system and find the teacher's curriculum guides and get the answers for you, for the homework at least,” he looks at you, “That still doesn't excuse you not doing the work. I told you, and Sam told you, to do your homework. That was a direct order, and you disobeyed.”

You swallow again nervously. “I—I'm sorry.”

Sam shifts on his chair. “Not only did you not do your homework, you were spoken to in the computer lab, for talking, and almost got a demerit there, and then had to sit out in PE because you didn't have your shoes. And then you were late to Math, didn't have your book, and you cursed in class.”

You stare at him. “How do you know all that?”

“It's all on the computer, and a paper gets printed out when a student gets demerits. Rhodes told me everything that had happened. You really need to buckle down--”

Dean's phone makes a buzzing sound, and he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at it. “Got a notification from the on-line police scanner, a phone call came in about a suspicious death.” 

“Should we go check it out?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, we can try. It might look odd for two teachers trying to get access to a crime scene. We'll figure something out, let's head over and see what we can see.” Dean pockets his phone and stands up.

“Can I go with you?” you ask.

“No, you stay here. Get that homework all done so you don't end up in the office tomorrow,” Sam stands up as well. 

Dean grabs a couple of potato wedges and eats them. “And don't wait up for us either, little girl,” he says, “That's an order.” 

You roll your eyes at him, and he leans over to you. “You and I still need to have that discussion about following orders- you wanna add on to it, for being sassy?”

“No, Uncle Dean,” you say, standing up.

“Then behave,” Dean gives your butt a light swat, and you hug him, and then go over to hug Sam.

The guys leave, and you clean up the detritus from dinner, and then pull all your books out of your backpack. Once you get into it, the homework isn't that difficult. The Science and Civics are worksheets, and the answers are easily found in the textbooks. Once you look up some basic info about Trigonometry, you figure out how to do the math problems, and for the English assignments, you have to read short stories and answer questions about vocabulary and grammar. 

You text Sam to find out what the guys are doing, and he texts back that they're in a meeting, and to go to bed. 

In the morning Sam has breakfast all prepared- waffles, sausage, and orange juice. You go straight to the coffee maker and pour a mug. “So how did it go last night, did you find anything out?”

“No, we couldn't get in without looking conspicuous. We did talk to someone in the department, though, and we've got an appointment to go through the old crime logs,” Sam motions to the table, “Sit down and eat.”

“Not hungry, I gotta get ready.” You start to walk around the table, and he grabs your arm. “Y/n, sit down. At least eat one waffle and one sausage.” 

“I—I don't--”

Sam pulls you over next to him, and gives you a stern look.

“Daaaad--” you protest. 

“Sit.” he pulls a chair out for you. 

As you pick up a waffle, he says, “No earrings today, so that you stay out off the radar for that.” 

You sigh. “All right.” You don't want McTavish looking at you any more than she has to.

After you eat, you get dressed- it's kinda nice having a uniform, you don't have to think about putting together an outfit and worrying about how it looks. You can't seem to get your eyeliner right this morning, and you have to remove it and reapply it. 

“Y/n, you almost ready?” Sam calls from the living room.

“In a minute!” you call back.

You sigh and apply your lipstick, and then grab your make-up bag. Sam's putting your books into your backpack as you walk out to the living room.

“Do you have your tennis shoes?” he asks.

“Oh, shit! No, I don't!” you run back to your room and grab them, hurrying back to Sam, who is standing there with arms folded.

“Watch—the—language,” he says firmly.

“Okaaay,” you huff, stuffing the shoes into your backpack.

“Hey, I mean it. I don't want you swearing anymore.”

“Yes, Dad,” you say. 

“All right, stand up straight,” he says.

“What?”

“I'm going to check over everything before we leave, make sure you're not going to get into trouble.”

“Aww, come on!” 

“Hush,” he looks at your face, “Are you allowed to wear that lipstick?”

“Yes. Well, nobody said anything yesterday. As long as it looks natural it's allowed.” 

“Hmm. Turn around.”

You turn slowly, and he grabs the back of your waistband. “Make sure your shirt is tucked in all the way around,” he says. 

You fix your blouse, and then he says, “Good enough. Let's go.” 

You make a face. “Is this going to be a thing now?”

“What, morning inspection from me? Yes, for now, it will be.”

You huff again, and he says, “Dean and I talked, and we agree that you need better guidance from us.”

“You guys already tell me what to do,” you grumble as you leave the apartment.

“Yeah, but you aren't listening very well. So for now, we're going to keep a closer eye on you and give you more direction,” Sam unlocks the car doors and you climb into the passenger seat.

Dean is in the parking lot of the school when you get there, and the three of you walk in together. Once again the building is mostly quiet and dim. 

“I'll hang out with you in the library,” Dean says as you walk down the hall.

Once you're in the library, Sam shows Dean some things that he's found on the computer. 

“I got permission to go look through storage,” Dean tells Sam, “I was going to poke around on my break today.”

“Okay, let me know when,” Sam says. He looks at you. “Don't forget, you need to turn the disciplinary letter in to the front office this morning.”

“Oh, right,” you say with a grimace. 

“I'll go with you, and take a look at your locker, see if I can figure out what's wrong with it,” Dean says. 

You notice the stares from all the girls as you walk through the halls with him. The principal is not at the front desk this morning, so you leave the letter with Susan, and then show Dean your locker. 

He fiddles with it for a couple of minutes, and then says, “I'll talk to maintenance, I think it just needs some oil.”

“Thanks, Uncle Dean,” you say gratefully.

“So which classroom is yours?” he asks with a devilish smirk, “Let's give 'em something to talk about.”

You walk over to your room, and as you go in the door, Jules and Maggie come up to you. “Did you hear, there was another mur—OH!” Jules stops and stares at Dean, who has appeared next to you.

He nods and smiles charmingly. “Morning, ladies,” he says with a nod. Then he looks at you and leans down, tapping his cheek. “Gimme some sugar, y/n.”

You want to gape at him and say, “What are you doing?” but you lean over and kiss his cheek, saying, “Bye, Uncle Dean, have a good day.” 

“Keep your ears open,” he whispers, and then he straightens up. “You too, princess,” he winks at you, and then at the girls, and leaves the room.

A couple other girls had wandered over during this exchange, and they screech and grab each other. “Did you see that wink?” 

“Aww, he calls you princess!” Maggie enthuses. 

“Girl, you are soooo lucky, I'm tellin' you,” Jules wiggles her eyebrows, “you ever think about getting' some of that hot uncle action?” 

“Ewww!” the other girls say, rolling their eyes and giggling. 

The bell rings, and everyone scurries to their seats. You hold your breath during Morning Inspection, and you pass, with Professor McTavish saying simply, “Good,” as she walks away from you. 

You raise your hand when the class is passing homework up, and ask about the previous night's assignment. The teacher tells you to pass it forward as well, so you do. 

The rest of the morning goes smoothly, until you get to PE. The teacher has decided that the class will be playing dodge ball, even though everyone groans and complains. 

And then you get hit in the face with a ball, and your nose begins to bleed. 

The teacher tells one of the girls that you don't know to take you to the nurse. The girl doesn't talk to you, just keeps looking at you out of the corner of her eye. 

When she walks you into the nurse's office, the nurse sees her and say, “Miss Boyd, what ailment are we suffering from today?”

“Oh, it's not me, it's her,” the girl shoves you forward. 

The nurse fusses over you, getting you an ice pack and tissues for your nose, and insisting you sit in the office until after the blood has completely dried up. The bell for Lunch has rung by the time she decides to let you go, and you have to hurry to the Gym to pick up your backpack. 

The girls are already sitting down when you finally join them. 

“How's your nose?” Maggie asks.

“It's fine now,” you say. 

“So, last night...there was another murder,” Jules says dramatically. 

“How do you know?” you ask, glancing around at everyone.

“Well, one of our neighbors knows someone who works on the force, and he talks to my father all the time. He was over this morning talking about it. More blood and missing body parts,” she wiggles her eyebrows dramatically, “looks like maybe it is witches, kids!” 

“Oh please, witches don't carve people's bodies up,” a girl with short black hair says, “They're peaceful, y'know?” 

Britt looks at her. “How do you know? Are you friends with any witches?” she asks scornfully. 

The girl blushes a little. “No...but I've read some about them.” 

Everyone's attention shifts as a blonde girl comes rushing over to the table. “Oh Juuuules, guess who's gonna be at the daaaaance,” she sing-songs.

Jules turns to look at her. “Who?”

“Nick, your one and only!”

“I am SO there,” Jules pounds the table, “Who wants to come over to my house before the dance and get ready with me?” she looks around the table. 

“Well you know I'll be there,” Maggie says, “Y/n, you want to come over?”

“Umm, I'll...have to ask,” you tell them. 

“You didn't ask about the dance yet? C'mon, you gotta start making plans!” Jules says.

The bell rings, and everyone stands up to throw away their trash. 

The rest of the day passes by quickly, and you turn in all your homework and sit quietly through each class. 

When the final bell of the day rings, Dean walks up to you. “You're riding home with me,” he tells you, “Sam's got a meeting.” 

“Oh...about what?” you ask hesitantly. Are you in trouble for something?

“About the resources that the school has, the collection of old books and all that. C'mon,” he slings his arm across your shoulders, “So how was your day?”

“It went well, I didn't get any demerits or anything, and I turned in all my homework.”

“Good girl!” Dean praises, and you feel yourself blushing a little. Why is it making you feel good that he's praising you like that? 

“I got hit in the nose with a ball in PE and my nose bled, I had to go to the nurse,” you tell him as you get in the car. 

“Is it okay now? Who hit you?” he looks over at you with concern on his face.

“Yeah, it's fine,” you shrug, “It was an accident, I'm sure.” 

“Well, you be careful.”

When Dean lets the two of you into the apartment, you go to the kitchen to get some water. 

Dean takes off his jacket, and then you notice that he's unbuttoned his right shirt cuff and is rolling up his sleeve. Does that mean--?

“I'm proud of you, that you didn't get into any trouble today, kiddo, but we still need to deal with yesterday,” he says, and points to the floor in front of him, “Come here.” 

You set your glass down and sigh, and then walk over to him. “Look, I said I was sorry, and I'll listen better, and do what I'm supposed to.”

“That's great. But there's still a consequence for not following orders. And, when you texted Sam last night, it was after your bedtime, so again, you weren't doing what you'd been told...were you?” 

Shit, you forgot that when you text, it marks the time that the text was sent. And Sam had given you a definite bedtime of 10:30 when you first got here. 

“I know what I did wrong, and I won't do it again...” a whine has crept into your voice, and you blush with embarrassment at how childish you sound. 

Dean chuckles. “You sound like me when I was a kid and trying to talk my Dad out of a tanning. C'mon, let's get this over with.” He holds his hand out and beckons you, and you walk over to him. He leads you over to the sofa and sits down, holding your hand in his. “Why are we here?” he asks, looking up at you. 

Your blush deepens. “Because I—I didn't listen, I mean I didn't follow orders, and I got myself into a lot of trouble at school because of it.” 

“And what happens when you get into trouble?” 

“I, uh, I get p-punished.”

“That's right.” he pulls on your hand, and helps you lay across his lap. Your torso rests on the sofa next to him.

He begins to spank you, not hard and fast like he usually does, but at a slower tempo so that there's time to feel the sting of each swat. By the time he's reached the undercurve, you're gasping and squirming and tears are starting to leak out of your eyes.

He shifts you a little bit, and moves his right leg so that your rear is raised up. “You follow orders--” his hand falls on the undercurve, “--and do what you're told,” his hand falls again, in exactly the same spot, harder, and you squirm, “Keep your head down in school--” his hand lands slightly lower, “ --and stay under the radar.” Another swat, right on top of the previous one. You whimper. 

“Is that clear?” his voice is loud and stern.

“Y-yes, Uncle D-dean,” you whimper, “Aah! No more, p-please!” you start to cry as his hard hand begins to pepper the crease between ass and thigh with stinging swats. You start to squirm again, and kick your feet. 

Then you feel him pushing your skirt up onto your lower back, and you screech, “What are you doing?” You don't want him seeing your panties! You struggle, and he holds you tighter.

“It's in the way,” he says simply, and his hand rains down on your panty-clad behind as you wail and sob.

And then he is finished. You lay there over his lap until your sobs have become sniffles, and then he lifts you up and holds you on his lap. You put your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, snuggling with him for a few minutes.

“You look good in a suit, but I don't like these shirts,” you say.

“Why is that?” he looks down at you.

“Because they're not soft like your flannels. I miss you wearing them.”

Dean chuckles. “Well, I'll have to make sure that I hug you a lot when I'm wearing my regular gear.” 

You get up and wipe your face, and then go to the kitchen to get your glass of water. Dean's phone rings, and you hear him call, “It's a video call from Ash.” 

You hurry back into the living room- Ash is a friend of hunters, he's a computer-geek genius who can hack into just about anything. 

“Heeey, Dean-o! You're on a case at a school?” you hear his familiar voice as you walk over. 

“Yeah, we're working with y/n,” Dean turns the phone around so that Ash can see you, and you wave at the little screen. “Hey, Ash.”

“Hey, chicky—wait a minute, WHAT are you wearing?!” Ash leans into the camera, and Dean moves the phone to show your whole outfit. 

Dean turns the phone back towards himself. “She's undercover as a student, Sam and me are teachers,” he explains. 

You sit down next to Dean and look into the camera.

Ash runs his hand through his hair. “Holy geez, that's some material for the spank bank, am I right, Dean-o?” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you feel yourself start to blush. “Ash!” you protest. 

“Well, hey, it's hot, what can I say? You fill out that uniform well, baby,” Ash leers at you. 

“All right, all right,” Dean interrupts, “What have you got for me?” 

“Okay, well...I was able to get into the school's system, got the stuff you asked for, the answer keys and assignments and all. Sent 'em to your e-mail.”

“Great, thanks,” Dean says.

“Now, as far as the police stuff, their website is a little hinky, because it's government, y'know, so I had to be more careful. I copied some stuff down and sent it to ya, but the site kept kickin' me out. I can't get into it and stay, y'know?” 

“Okay, can I send you specific dates to look up, and you find any police reports and send them?” Dean asks.

“Sure thing,” Ash agrees.

“Thanks man, I owe you a case of beer,” Dean says.

“Can y/n deliver it to me while she's wearin' that outfit?” Ash smirks.

“No, I can't, you weirdo!” you huff, and he laughs. 

“Talk to you later, dude,” Dean says, and Ash salutes the camera, and disconnects the call. 

“He's such a goof,” you say, and Dean nods. “Yeah, he is. Turn on your laptop and let me look at what Ash sent.”

You bring your laptop over and Dean sets it on the coffee table. He finds the documents that Ash sent, and it looks like you'll have the answers to the homework for Science, Math, History, and some of the English. 

“It was pretty easy once I figured out that the answers were in the textbook, but this will save time,” you tell him.

“I'll send these to your e-mail,” he says. 

You hear the jingle of keys, and Sam unlocks the front door and comes in, carrying a stack of books. “I got some old books about the history of the town, including a couple about the origin of the Three Corners legend. We can start looking through them tonight.”


	8. Thank God It's Friday...NOT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another that just kept going and going...there's a lot going on and a lot to describe! And our fair OC just can't manage to stay out of trouble!  
> Thanks to Edge_of_Clairvoyance for the help with editing, advice, and allowing me to pick your brain!  
> Content Warning for school paddling (observed).  
> **************

Thursday goes off without a hitch. Sam and you go to school early and meet Dean there, and hang out in the library for a short time. 

You turn in all homework, are polite to all the professors, and listen to the girls gossiping at lunch. 

That evening you help the guys look through boxes of old documents about the school and the town that Dean had snagged from one of the storage areas in the school. 

The three of you sit around eating pizza and making notes, until Dean notices that it's late, and sends you to bed after landing a few well-placed swats on your butt. (You didn't help yourself when you huffed at him the first time he told you to go to bed, and then sassed him the second time)

 

Friday morning, Sam and you wake up late. You're cranky because you have to rush, and Sam even gets snappy with you after you grump at him.

Dean meets you in the front lobby, he had been hanging out in the office. “You guys are late, unlike me,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Yeah well, the alarm didn't go off,” you grumble. 

“Your alarm went off more than once, you chose to ignore it,” Sam says pointedly.

He'd come into your room and yanked your covers down and then smacked your ass a couple times to get you moving. Having Sam's humongous hand swatting your rear first thing in the morning is not a fun way to wake up. 

“Oh, shut it,” you snap. 

“Excuse me?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Leave me alone!” You turn to try and leave, but he grabs your arm and leans down.

“Do I need to ask Rhodes if I can use his office for an attitude adjustment? Or maybe I should ask if I can borrow his paddle?” He gives you a stern look, and you can see that he's getting angry. 

“S-sorry, Dad,” you amend with a gulp. 

“No more of your smart mouth today, little girl,” he says firmly. 

“Okay, Dad,” you try to sound agreeable.

“All right stand down, you two,” Dean says, “Let's try to have a good day, huh?”

Sam straightens up and lets you go. “Why are you in such a good mood?” he asks Dean.

“Got a hot date tonight,” Dean reports with a grin. 

“What?” you are surprised. 

“Well, we're not supposed to 'fraternize' with our co-workers, so we're just getting together to talk about the town and the history and all that...Emma Greer, she teaches history to the juniors and seniors, y'know?” Dean says, looking at Sam, “And you're invited to go out for drinks with the teachers crowd, like they do every Friday.” 

“What about me?” you ask, feeling a little jealous. 

“You sit and home and be a good little girl and do your homework,” Dean grins at you. 

“Well that sucks,” you snap. 

“Hey!” Sam pops your butt with his open palm, and you have to stifle a yelp. You glare up at him and step away. 

“You know, there's this dance happening this weekend, and I keep forgetting to mention it,” you tell them. 

“When is it? Is It here at the school? Is it just for the school, or are they letting other people in?” Sam asks. 

“It's Satuday, at some community center, and it's for this school and the public high school,” you say.

“Uh, I don't know, that sounds like it has a lot of potential to get out of hand,” Sam says uneasily. 

“Oh, I see, you guys can go out, and talk to people, and have fun while you're investigating, but I can't? I thought the reason I was here was so I could get info from the teens!” you hiss the last part. 

Sam leans down again. “Okay, you're right. Just-- be careful, you know?” 

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Of course, but really, these are a bunch of kids, how bad can it be?” 

The bell rings just then, and you stand on your tip-toes to give Sam and then Dean each a peck on the cheek. Dean gives your butt a hard pat as you hurry away. 

 

There's an excited buzz in the school, because it's Friday, and because the dance is this weekend. The energy is heightened in the classroom because of this, and the students are restless and chatty and won't settle down. 

In second period, you get to witness your first in-class paddling. The girl is one of those kids who seems to thrive on pushing buttons, and she gives off an air of “I don't care what happens”. She doesn't have her homework, or her textbook, and she is insolent and disrespectful to the teacher, who has finally had enough. 

“All right, Miss Coleman, come up front,” Professor Tyson says. She walks around her desk and makes a phone call. 

“Yes, I need Vice Principal Shaw here to observe a paddling,” she says, “All right, thank you.” 

The girl-- Gina Coleman—walks up to the front of the classroom, and stands there, arms crossed defiantly. A couple of girls are whispering to each other.

“Miss Coleman, you have earned 7 demerits this morning, and because of this, you will receive three strokes of the paddle.” Professor Tyson opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a paddle.

Gina shrugs and rolls her eyes, shifting her weight. 

The door opens, and Vice Principal Shaw comes into the room. It falls silent, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. There's an air of tension in the room now. 

“Miss Coleman, assume the position,” Professor Tyson tells her. 

Gina walks around the small table that is next to the teacher's desk and leans over it, gripping the far edge. She is facing the class, and she lowers her head to stare at the floor. 

Mrs. Shaw walks over to stand nearby, and the professor walks behind Gina and lifts the paddle. 

Your stomach twists nervously- you've never been in this situation before where you've had to watch someone else get punished. You glance around- some of the girls are watching, but most of them have their eyes on their desks or their heads bowed. 

Professor Tyson swings the paddle, and the loud WHACK! makes you jump. 

Gina flinches forward, but doesn't make a sound. You can hear murmured whispers coming from behind you.

“Quiet,” Professor Tyson glances around the room.

She swings again, and as the paddle connects, you can see Gina's knuckles turn white on the edge of the desk. Your stomach twists again- how can the girl stand being up there in front of everyone like that? 

Professor Tyson steps back a little, and raises her arm higher. You want to look away from this, but you can't. When she brings the paddle down, Gina's whole body flinches again and shudders, and she lowers her head further for a moment. You hear a gasp from behind you, and look over. A couple of girls have shocked faces, and at least one has tears in here eyes.

“All right, Miss Coleman, you may stand,” the professor says. 

You let out a breath, not realizing that you were holding it.

Gina lets go of the desk and straightens. Her face is red, and her eyes are shiny with unshed tears, but she tosses her hair back, still defiant. 

Mrs. Shaw looks at the professor and nods. “Pick up your disciplinary letter at the end of the day from the front office, Miss Coleman,” she says, “You may go back to your seat now.” 

Gina turns and walks back to her seat, wincing when she sits down. 

You feel a pain in your fingers and look down- your hand had been gripping a pencil so tightly that your fingers are aching now. You loosen your hand and flex and rub your fingers.

The Vice Principal leaves, and Professor Tyson puts the paddle away. The students are quiet and still throughout the rest of the class. 

Since it's Friday, you have Study Hall. You're not quite sure what that means, but you catch up to Jules in the hallway. 

“Um, where do I go for Study Hall?” you ask.

“Oh, goody, you're with us, c'mon,” Jules says, tugging on your arm. Maggie falls into step beside you. “Study Hall is supposed to be for working on subjects that you're having trouble with, but we mostly sit around and talk. It's in the library, in the back section.”

“Ohhh,” Maggie says with a swoon, as you come to the library doors, which are propped open.

Sam is behind the desk working on the computer, and you feel nervous butterflies in your stomach. Is Sam going to be your teacher for this class? You have library for the next class, so he's going to be your teacher for the first time. You wonder how it's going to be, having him be in that role. 

“Hi, Dr. Young,” Jules waves at Sam as the three of you walk by. 

“Hello, girls,” Sam looks up, and then smiles at you when he sees you. 

There's a part of the library at the back, that is sectioned off with low shelves, and that's where Study Hall is held. The large rectangular tables hold 6 students each, so you're able to sit with Jules and Maggie and a couple of their friends. Everyone pulls out books and binders and opens them. 

“So, what time are you coming over tomorrow night?” Jules glances around the table.

“I'll be there at 5 if that's okay with you,” Maggie replies.

“Sure, no prob, we're gonna get pizza,” Jules looks over at you, “How about you, y/n? You gonna come?” 

“Um, yeah, I guess,” you say. 

“You got sent to the office yesterday, did Rhodes paddle your ass?” Jules's eyes are curious now. 

You feel yourself start to blush. “Um, no--”

“No? Jesus, how'd you get out of it? Rhodes love to paddle new students,” another girl pipes up. 

You look down at the table. “Uh, my, uh, my Dad-- did it.” 

“Oh, shit!” Britt exclaims, “That sucks having your parent as a teacher, they'll know every time you get into trouble, and they can whack your ass if they want to instead of letting the staff do it!” 

“Ooh, I wouldn't mind having tall, handsome Dr. Hottie take me over his knee,” Jules says, and Maggie and a couple other girls giggle. 

“Trust me, it's not fun,” you say sourly, “His hands are big like the rest of him, and they're also hard.” 

The girls giggle again, and Jules makes a strangled sound in her throat. You blush harder, realizing you shouldn't have said anything at all.

“Girls!” the teacher who is supervising the class walks over to your table and glares at everyone. “Quiet down!” 

“Yes ma'am,” Maggie says.

Jules turns her head. “Uh-oh, Dr. Young is looking over here. Think he's gonna come spank us all?” She smirks, and the girls giggle again. 

The teacher steps over and whacks the ruler she's carrying down on the table, and you jump. “No more talking!” she says loudly. 

Everyone straightens up and looks down at the table, murmuring, “Yes ma'am.”

The teacher watches everyone for a few moments, and then steps away. 

You find your Trig textbook and go over the pages of homework you had, making sure you understand the problems. You're supposed to have a quiz today.

A few minutes later, Jules, Maggie, and another girl are deep in conversation. You glance at them from time to time, and then suddenly you notice that the teacher is back. 

“All of you will receive 2 demerits each,” she says sternly, “I've already spoken to you about being quiet, and it's obvious that you're not doing your work. One for disorder during class and one for disobeying directions.”

“But Ms. Franklin, we weren't talking,” a girl at the other end of the table says. 

“Quiet! You're all at the same table, so you all get into trouble together,” Miss Franklin snaps, “Pick up your disciplinary letter from the office at the end of the day.” 

Shit! You turn and glance over at the library desk. Sam is looking over at you, and he catches your eye and shakes his head slightly. Dammit, he's going to be pissed. Does that mean he's going to spank you tonight? Geez, you hope not. 

When the bell rings signaling the end of class, Jules and Maggie stand up. “We go over to the front part of the library now,” Maggie says. You follow them over to a set of tables in the front part of the library. Girls are opening their backpacks and placing library books on the front desk. 

Sam catches your eye and beckons you over with two fingers. 

You slowly walk over to the desk, and he motions you to come around behind the desk where he is standing. 

He leans down and looks you in the eyes. “What was all that?” His whisper sounds stern.

“I—I'm sorry!” You whisper back. 

“Yeah, you're gonna be,” he tells you, shaking his head. 

“Daaad!” you protest, and he gives you a look. “After all the attitude you gave me this morning? And now this? Go and sit down, and if I hear anything more out of you, you're going to be in even more trouble later. Understand?” He raises his eyebrows.

You gulp, your mouth going dry. “Y-yes, Dad.” 

As you turn to walk around the desk, he gives your butt a light swat, and you pray that no-one noticed.

You sit down next to Maggie as Sam and another teacher- an assistant librarian—begin to scan the books into the computer. The students quiet down as the final bell rings.

“You get in trouble?” Jules leans over and smirks at you. 

You shake your head slightly. Sam glances up and looks around the room. 

When the books are finished being entered, the librarian shows Sam something on the computer, and then picks up a binder and marks some things in it. 

She looks up and starts calling out names. “Lewis. Fletcher. Stansbury. Kennedy. Whitman. Each of you will receive demerits for failing to turn your book in for the second week in a row. Lucas and Fischer, two demerits each for failing to return your books for three weeks, and you will spend this period writing lines, 'I will remember to bring my book to school on Monday', 100 times. It needs to be turned in by the end of the school day.” She sets the binder down. “Ladies, may I remind you that we are trusting you to check out and return books in a timely fashion. When you forget to return your book, you are depriving another student of the chance to read and learn from that book. You need to remember your responsibilities to the school and perform them accordingly. You may look for books now.” 

 

At lunch, all everyone talks about is the dance. Jules gives you her address and you exchange phone numbers with her and a couple of the girls. Girls are talking about what they're going to wear, who they're going to see there, about couples that are dating or have broken up, and boys. You try to remember names that you hear, but there are so many you can't keep them straight. 

You stumble during your test in Trigonometry- it takes you a long time to finish, and you are one of the last ones. You had to go back and re-do a few of the problems because you couldn't get the correct answer. You can only hope that you got a good grade.

The last class of the days is Dean's. The excitement level is even higher, and you can feel it in the air as students walk into the room. The girls are still buzzing about the dance, and they continue to chat quietly as Dean takes attendance. He speaks to the class about settling down and paying attention, and then he begins to talk about one of the branches of government. He's at the board, writing with his back to the class, and a couple of girls start to pass notes. 

Maggie leans over to you. “Hey, can you drive?” 

Shit, you'd never talked about it with the guys- what should you say? “Uh, I got my license but I'm not allowed to on my own yet,” you reply. 

“Oh...okay, I'll get my mom to drop me off at--” 

There is a loud bang! and you jump and look up. Dean has thrown a large hardcover book down on the desk, startling everyone into silence, and he is glaring at everyone. He walks around his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have already spoken to you all about quieting down. Every class has been like this today, and I've had enough.” Dean's voice is hard, that lower pitch that he gets when he's angry, and you feel a pang in your lower belly. “Since no-one is in the mood to listen and learn today, instead, you're going to do silent reading at your desks. You should be able to pay attention to a page, and I won't waste my breath anymore. Turn to chapter 5 in your text book and read it, and the answer the questions at the end.” 

You start to blush as he gives you a look, and you know he saw you talking with Maggie. You get out your book and bend your head over it, hoping that no one else tries to talk to you. 

Three girls get demerits for passing notes. Dean speaks sternly to them, and they all look down at the floor as he's scolding them. You know the feeling- being scolded by Dean sucks, and it makes you feel about an inch tall. You wonder if anyone else has the same reaction to his low, rough voice that you do.

Finally the day is over. Dean leaves to get home quickly so that he can get ready for his date. You wonder what's going to happen there- how far is he going to go? He's not above having a one-night stand, but he'd said that teachers weren't allowed to date here- is he going to obey that rule? Thinking about him sitting at a table, chatting and flirting with another woman, makes you realize that you feel a little jealous. You push it away, though- you can't be feeling that way about him right now.

You walk to the front office to pick up the disciplinary letter, and there's a bunch of girls standing around waiting. The printer is running, and one of the secretaries is walking back and forth between the desk and the counter, laying out disciplinary letters and calling out names. “Lewis. Coleman. Grady.”

She pauses, waiting for the printer to spit out the next set of papers. You hear a muffled sound—the sound of a swat—and everyone goes quiet. Your stomach gets nervous butterflies in it. Then another swat, and another. It's coming from behind the closed door of the principal's office. Another swat, and there's a loud cry. Three more quick swats, and another cry that ends in a shriek. You wince, remembering the feeling of the paddle whacking your butt. 

You shuffle your feet and glance around- some girls look uncomfortable, some have red faces and are staring at the floor. No-one talks or looks at each other.

“Patel. Garfield. Young. Ruehle.” The secretary calls, and you walk forward to pick up your letter. The door to the principal's office opens, and a girl walks out, her face red and streaming with tears. A woman walks behind her, with her hand on the girl's shoulder. You recognize her as one of the other English teachers, and you wonder how many teachers have girls that go here as students, and how many of them punish their daughters at school. 

You take your letter and walk to the library to meet Sam. He's in the office in the back, sorting through files. 

“Sit down, I'll be out in a few minutes.” he tells you. You walk around looking at the books on the shelves instead, going to the non-fiction section to see what they have. 

Sam comes out of the office with his laptop bag on his shoulder. He closes the door and locks it with a key. “Ready?” he calls to you. You pick up your backpack and shoulder it, following him out to the hallway. He holds up his keys and then says, “Oh, I don't have to lock it, the cleaning crew will be here shortly.” 

As he puts his keys in his pocket, you start hearing loud smacks. They're coming from the classroom across the hall again, and as you walk by, you glance in. The teacher is sitting on the edge of the desk again, with a girl pinned across her leg, and you hear the girl cry out, “Mama, I'm sorryyyy!” as you walk down the hall. 

“Geez, everyone's been getting it today,” you grumble.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, looking down at you. 

“Today, a girl got paddled in science class, then I heard a girl getting paddled in the office and everyone saw her come out with her mother, and now that girl,” you tell him. 

“And you're going to be joining them when we get home,” Sam says, unlocking the car. 

You throw your backpack onto the floor and climb into the car, turning to look at him. “What? Why?”

Sam starts the car. “You were late, and mouthy, this morning, and then you got demerits in Study Hall. What'd we tell you before, about that?” 

“Getting demerits? I don't think we talked about it.” 

He glances at you. “You get into trouble at school, you get in trouble at home.” 

You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “That--that's not fair!” you protest. 

“You're supposed to stay off the radar. Talking and being disruptive in class is not staying off the radar. It's perfectly fair,” he turns his head to watch traffic, and then turns back to you. “And, you failed your Trig test, and Dean told me that you were one of the girls whispering in his class. Said that all the classes were chatty today, and he had to hand out quite a few demerits.”

“I didn't get any from him!” you exclaim.

“I know that, but you were still talking when you shouldn't have been. You need to be on extra good behavior when you're with us in school.” 

 

Sam unlocks the door of your apartment, and you follow him in. He removes his suit jacket, and then his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt with a relieved sigh.

You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water for yourself. When you come out to the living room, he is unbuttoning the right sleeve of his shirt, and he looks over at you and beckons you. Dammit! 

“What?” you ask. 

“What do you think?. You got up late, sassed me, and then got into trouble more than once at school. Now come here.” He finishes rolling the sleeve up past his elbow.

“D-daaad,” you say, feeling your stomach clench again. 

He points at the floor in front of him. You sigh and walk over as he sits down on the sofa. 

“Do I have to?” you ask with a whine.

“Yes, you do, you've needed a spanking since this morning,” He reaches up for your hand and pulls you down over his lap, so that your body is supported by the sofa. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and turn to look back at him. “The girl who got paddled today didn't have her skirt raised, can't you go easy on me? You lifted my skirt up when you paddled me!” 

“So? No-one could see anything, why does that matter?” He places his hand on your lower back.

“But-- it was almost like getting a bare-bottom paddling!” The regulation panties that the school gives out with the uniforms are like the small shorts that cheerleaders wear under their little skirts- they have the full coverage of granny panties and they're tight so they don't ride up. Problem is, sometimes they still do.

“It wasn't on the bare, y/n,” Sam's voice is reasonable.

“I know that! But those panties had ridden up a little, and that last swat was down low, and some of my-- bare skin got smacked!” 

“Well, I've never used a paddle on anyone before. And your skirt is pleated, and I couldn't really—I couldn't see--” he sighs in exasperation, “I don't want you to think I was checking you out, because I wasn't, but it's hard to see the shape of your—your butt, under that skirt. That's why I lifted it, so I could make sure I was hitting the right part of your ass, not too high up, you know?” 

“Well then, because of that, don't you think...don't you think you should go easy on me?”

Sam chuckles. “No, I don't.” You see him raise his hand up, and then it cracks down on your butt. You give a shriek, because you weren't ready. He pushes on your back. “Down.” 

You lay your chest down on the sofa, and he begins to spank you, his huge hand covering your cheeks with hard swats that make you gasp and squirm. He lands several swats on one side, in the same spot, until you think you're going to go out of your mind from the sting, and then switches sides. The pain builds up on the opposite side, and then he starts on the other cheek again, slightly lower down. When he reaches the lower curve of your ass, you start to kick your feet and whimper. “Please, I'm sorry! No more!”

You screech as his hand falls on the spot where ass and thighs meet, and try to push up and off of his lap. He pushes your legs off the sofa and throws a leg over, and then pins you down with an arm across your lower back. Then you feel him moving your skirt- it had flipped up during your struggling. “Ahh, don't! What are—noooo!” you wail as his hand starts to land on your panty-clad butt. You hate this, knowing he can see your panties and your ass, somehow it's humiliating, and makes you feel like a small child. The tears start to fall and you cry aloud as his hand falls you your sit spots and the bare tops of your thighs. 

He pauses, and shifts you over his knees. “You going to behave in class from now on?”

When you don't answer right away, he spanks you, right in the center of your ass, hard. “OW! Y-yes, Dad!”

“I want perfect behavior, and NO demerits, is that understood?” he spanks you a couple more times.

“Aaah-OW! Yes! Yes, Dad!” you exclaim.

“No more sassing me,” SMACK! “No more getting up late,” SMACK! “No more failed quizzes.” SMACKSMACKSMACK! 

“O—okay! Yes, Dad!” your chest is heaving with sobs now. 

Sam lifts you up to sit in his lap, putting his arms around you. After you've quieted, he tells you, “I'm going to meet the other teachers for drinks.”

“Can I come?” you pull back and look at him.

“No, you stay here, work one homework and study for Trig, I want you to re-take that quiz.” He tucks your hair behind your ear.

“But--”

“Ah ah!” he gives you a warning look, “I don't want to hear it. I won't be gone for that long.” 

“This isn't fair,” you fold your arms and pout. 

“I don't want to hear that either,” he pats your thigh, “Come on, get up, I've got to change.” 

You get up off of his lap. “Where'd Dean go?”

“I don't know, he said they were going out to dinner. Who knows when he'll be back.”

You feel another pang of jealousy as you walk to your room to change. Sam leaves after he changes out of his work clothes, leaving you cash to order pizza in. 

You had changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt, but you decide to change. Why should they get to go out and investigate and also have fun? It's not fair that they can dictate your every single move! Aren't you a hunter too? You change into a pair of tight jeans and a pretty peasant blouse with embroidered flowers on the front, put on some make-up and dangly earrings, and grab your purse. Town is within walking distance, you can browse through some of the shops and get a feel for what's there. You slip on some flats and then leave, locking the apartment door behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ~ * ~ * ~  
> Comments and reviews feed my muse and make her happy, and a happy muse means more writing!  
> * ~ * ~ * ~


	9. Friday Night Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So this chapter kinda ended up going in a couple of different directions...sometimes that happens, I intend for things to go one way, but the story wants it to happen another way! You'll see what I mean. Hope you enjoy! Content Warning for...dundundun...the hairbrush!  
> **********  
> Edited to add: I've started a new fic called "Sam and Dean and Little Girl Makes Three". Our OC gets hit with a de-aging spell. Expect lots of fluff and cuteness, and of course, spanking!  
> ***********

 

It takes you about 30 minutes to walk into town. The night air is slightly cool, but it feels invigorating. You haven't been out somewhere on your own in a while, and it feels good.

You spend some time browsing in the shops- one sells hand-made pottery and ceramic artwork, one sells antiques and estate jewelry, another sells fair-trade items from around the globe- dishware from Poland, jewelry from Africa, knitted hats and gloves from Peru, and all sorts of decorations and knick-knacks. You decide to buy a little brightly colored hand-woven change purse from Guatelmala.

There are also a couple of clothing shops, and you try on a couple of dresses and tops. At each store, you chat with the people who work there, and by the time you're leaving the third clothing boutique, you're ready for a drink. There's a coffee shop next door, and you decide to stop in for a snack.

Something makes you turn your head before you go inside- there's a store across the street that looks interesing- it's called 'Auntie's Herb and Candle Shop', and there are lots of sparkly crystals hanging in the front window display. Then you notice under the wording on the sign, there's a drawing of a broom and a little cauldron. It makes you wonder if the owner is a witch. After you get your coffee, you'll stop over there and look around, talk to who ever works there.

You're standing at the counter, trying to decide between lemon scones or blueberry muffins, and you hear the bell over the door chime, and a female voice.

“--used to be cobblestone until about the 1960s,” she says.

“I bet that was rough on the tires,” says a deep voice, and you freeze. That voice is familiar. Oh shit, how are you going to explain this?

You hear footsteps, and then feel a hand on your shoulder. You think quickly- how should you handle it?

You turn, and look up at Dean, who is standing next to a tall, slim woman who has dark hair piled on top of her head and glasses.

“Oh, hi!” you decide to play it casual.

Dean looks angry. “And what are you doing here?” he asks sternly.

“I just, uh, I came into town to look around. There are some really cute shops here!” you say this to the woman he's with, hoping to appeal to her.

“Look around,” Dean repeats. He's glaring at you, and his jaw is set.

“Um, yeah,” you can't keep looking at him, and you drop your eyes, feeling a nervous pang in your stomach now.

“How did you get here?”

“Oh, I walked...it's not that far, you know.”

“You—you walked?” he raises his eyebrows, and then closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, his face getting red. He exhales angrily. “You know what, Emma, I'm going to have to take a rain check on the coffee. I have to take my errant, wayward niece back home.” Dean takes your arm.

“Um, you don't have to, we can all grab a coffee and sit,” you say, trying to smile at him.

“No, we can't. You were told to stay in tonight, weren't you?”

You feel yourself start to blush and look back down at your feet.

“Oh, dear,” Emma says sympathetically.

“I'm sorry, Emma, I've got to go,” Dean pulls on you, “Come on.”

You try to match his pace as he stalks up the sidewalk. He's parked a couple of blocks down, in a dimly-lit parking lot.

“I—I got some information—I talked to some of the people in the stores,” you say, looking up at him and hoping he'll respond positively.

He ignores you, dropping your arm to unlock his door, and then reaching in to unlock the passenger door. Then suddenly he picks you up and sets you in the back seat, climbing in next to you and slamming the door closed.

The last time you were in the back seat with Dean, he'd spanked you but good. You stomach clenches nervously as you look at his face, trying to get a read on him.

“Uh— U-uncle Dean--what are y--” Your question is answered as he pulls you down over his lap. You yelp as his hand begins to fall on your ass, and he flips the back of your jacket out of the way, and then clamps his arm across your back.

“Uncle Dean stop, someone will see! Or hear!” You squeal, trying to get up. You can't move, though, he has a tight hold on you.

After landing several swats that has your ass stinging, he pauses. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks angrily.

“I told you- I came here to look around!” you exclaim hotly.

“You were told to stay at home. Were you not?” He smacks your right butt cheek, hard, and you cry out, “Were you not?” his voice is louder.

“Y-yes, I was!” you admit.

And then you shriek as his hand begins to fall again. It makes you think about the other time he'd spanked you in the back of the Impala. Dear God, you hope he doesn't pull your pants down. “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!” you wail, hoping your apology will still his hand.

“Yeah, you're gonna be, after I'm done with you,” he grits out.

“Wh-what?”

He lets you up, and you sit up, wiping the tears that had come to your eyes.

“That was a preview of what's to come, little girl. Both Sam and me were explicit in our instructions to you, and you disobeyed orders yet again.”

“I--”

“No, I don't want to hear anything out of you right now,” he points at you, and then gets out of the back and into the driver's seat. Before he starts the car, he pulls out his phone and sends a text.

The drive back to the apartment is too short, and your stomach is fluttering with nervous butterflies. You try to tamp them down by getting annoyed. After all, you're on this investigation too, right?

Dean opens the back door for you and you follow him silently up to your apartment. He locks the door, removes his coat and tosses it over the back of the armchair, and then grabs your wrist and starts to pull you towards the sofa.

You lean backwards, trying to fight him. “Wait,” you say, “Let's talk about this!”

“What's to talk about? You disobeyed orders. Again,” his voice is like stone.

He pulls you over to the sofa and sits down, pulling you down and over his lap.

“No! This—this isn't fair!” you protest, as his hand begins to rain down swats again.

“Fair?” he stops spanking, and leans over you, “There is no 'fair' on a hunt, you take your orders and obey them, and that's all there is. Who's the boss here?”

“You are,” you reply weakly. Your ass is already stinging.

“That's right, and you need to remember that,” he puts his arm over your back, and starts the spanking again.

Your whole rear end is throbbing now, and tears are starting to slip down your cheeks, when you hear the door open. You turn your head as Sam comes into the apartment. He has a small square container in his hand, and he sets it on the table next to the door.

Dean stops again. Sam comes over and stands on the other side of the coffee table, his hands on his hips. “I want to know what you think you're doing,” he says in a hard voice.

Dean lets you up, and you sit up and wipe your face off with your palms. “I—I was getting information!”

Sam lets out a short huff. “That wasn't what we told you to do, was it?”

“No, but--”

“Why do you keep insisting on running off and doing your own thing?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“It's not f—I don't like this, having to sit at home doing nothing while you guys get to go out and investigate!”

“There's a reason for that, y/n. We're undercover, remember? We're the adults, you're not. And I'm sorry, but you can't go around playing 'Nancy Drew' either, it doesn't work that way. Nancy Drew probably would've gotten kidnapped or killed in real life.”

“I wasn't trying to play Nancy Drew!” you snap.

“You'll get your chance to investigate, you're working the teen angle, and you'll have plenty to do at that dance,” Dean says.

“No, you're not going,” Sam declares.

“What?” you gape at him, “You—you can't--”

“I think she should be grounded,” Sam looks at Dean.

“No, I need to go to the dance, it's a chance to talk to the girls in a setting that's not school, and find out about the other kids too!”

Dean sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly, again. Then he stands up. “Sammy--” he jerks his head to the side, and then turns to you. “You stay right there,” he says, and then they walk down the hall. You hear them go into Sam's room, and they talk quietly for a few minutes.

When they return, your heart drops into your stomach as you see what's Dean's got in his hand. The hair brush. They walk over and stand in front of you, both with identical stern looks on their faces.

“You're gonna get to go to the dance,” Dean tells you, “But it's to gather information about the case. You talk to people, keep your ears and eyes open, look around where ever you can.”

“That's what I was planning on doing!” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

“That's all you're gonna do,” Sam says, “No shenanigans. Or else.”

You're about to ask, 'Or else what?', but Dean speaks again. “From now on, disobeying orders is going to be punished with the hairbrush. And tomorrow, you're going to practice obeying our orders.”

You swallow uneasily. “What does that mean?”

“We're going to tell you what to do, you're gonna do it. Or face the consequences. And you don't just go off and do what you want, you wait for us to tell you.”

“Oh come on, that—that's ridiculous!”

Dean folds his arms over his chest, the hairbrush sticking up in the crook of his elbow. “No, it's not. Consider it training. Our dad used to do stuff like that when he was training us, if we'd been especially stubborn, except with him it was repetitive shit like “Bring me the weapons duffle. Now unpack it. Clean every weapon. Put it all away. Unpack it again.” Would you rather be doing that?”

“No,” you say sourly.

“You need to understand something, y/n, this is about you not obeying orders. If I'm working with people who can't obey orders, things can get very ugly very quickly. When you're in the middle of something you need to know that you can rely on the members of your team to back you up.”

“I always back you up!” you exclaim.

“But I don't know that, since you haven't been obeying the orders you've been given. And if I can't trust that you'll follow orders, then I can't trust you in other situations.”

Your anger goes out of you when you hear that, and you feel hurt. But he's right, your behavior hasn't exactly been trustworthy.

You look down at your lap, feeling your face get hot. “I'm sorry,” you say in a quiet voice.

“I think you're getting it now, huh?” Dean asks, and you nod.

He sits down next to you. “Now do you get why we're coming down so hard on you? We need to know that you're going to do what you're told.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“And also, we're still learning about the town and the people here,” Sam says, “And until we know more, we've got to assume that anyone could be the killer. That's why I'm so cautious about you going places, y/n, I don't want anything to happen to you. You haven't done this type of thing before, so you're learning as you go, but that means that you've got to be extra careful and not let your guard down. That aslo means not doing things that will potentially put yourself in danger.”

“Yes, Dad,” you glance up at Sam, feeling guilty now. You've let them down, and they're feeling like they can't trust you.

Dean sighs. “All right, then,” he sits forward, and gestures to his lap, “Let's get this over with.”

“Do you have to use the hairbrush?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. Not only did you disobey orders, you put yourself in danger by going out on your own. You didn't tell either of us what you were doing, or where you were going! If something had happened to you, we wouldn't have known where to look!”

And that does it, guilt comes crashing down over you and you start to cry.You turn towards him, starting to lean over, and he stops you. “Jeans down,” he says.

You don't even protest, you unbutton and unzip your jeans, and stand up to pull them down, and then you decide to pull them all the way off, and toss them over the arm of the sofa.

You take a deep breath and lay yourself across his thighs, tucking your arms underneath you.

Dean puts his hand on your lower back, and then he begins to spank you again. Because of the earlier spankings, your skin is already sensitized, and the stinging starts immediately. You want to struggle and kick and throw your hand back, but you don't, because you feel like you deserve this.

His hand spanks every inch of your butt, down to the crease, and then the tops of your thighs. You're crying now, and squirming a little, because your ass is on fire.

And then you feel his hand on the waistband of your panties, and he pulls them down.

“Nooooo,” you whimper, throwing your hand back to cover your bare bottom. You're so embarrassed that he can see you, in this position.

“I need to be able to see what I'm doing, make sure I'm not bruising you,” Dean says gruffly, leaning over, “Get your hand outta the way and don't reach back again, I don't want to smack your hand with the brush.”

“Pleeeease--”

“NOW,” he says loudly, tapping the brush on your upper thigh, and you give a little screeech, and move your hand. You pray that he won't spank your thighs with the wicked brush, it stings so much worse than his hand.

Your stomach twists with nerves as he adjusts you on his lap, and then places his arm across your lower back. And then there's a loud SMACK! sound as the brush connects with your sore ass for the first time, and you struggle and try to kick a little, because damn, it hurts.

Dean peppers your rear end with light, stinging swats, and you're crying aloud now and making little whimpering sounds every time the brush lands.

He shitfs his legs, moving the right one so that your butt is slightly higher. “Last ten,” he says, and you wonder why he's telling you that.

And then you shriek, as the brush falls on the spot right where your ass and thighs meet. He's swinging the brush harder, each swat lands with a thud, and every single one of those 10 swats lands on the sensitive crease. By the time he puts the brush down, you're wailing.

He pulls your panties up over your flaming rear end, and rubs your back as you shudder with sobs.  
Once you've calmed some, he helps you sit up, pulling you onto his lap. You throw your arms arounds him and snuggle into his chest. He puts his arms around you and holds you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I want you to trust me,” you say.

“You practice doing what you're told tomorrow, and that'll go a long way towards gaining our trust,” Dean says gently, stroking your hair back from your face.

“Yes, Uncle Dean,” you say, looking up at him, “I went into a few of the stores, and got business cards, so we can check out the owners. And I chatted up the workers, too. I noticed that there were some religious artifacts in the antique store, some statues and pieces of stained glass windows from some de-commisioned church, and jewelry. We'll have to check out if that church is around here, and see if it's being used for anything now. Oh, and I noticed a place across the street called 'Auntie's Herb and Candle Shop'- there was a broomstick and a cauldron on the bottom of the sign, so we should go check that out too!”

“Man, I hope it's not a witch that runs that place,” Dean says.

You get up off of his lap, and grab your purse, taking out the business cards. You hand them to Dean. “Also, there's a store that imports a lot of stuff from other countries, we should look into them and see who their contacts are.”

“That's great work, y/n,” Sam says warmly.

“Thanks,” you say shyly. He comes over to you and hugs you, lifting you off the floor for a couple seconds. “I just worry about you when you go out on your own,” he says quietly. “Oh, hey, I brought you back dessert, they had this incredible triple-chocolate cake tonight.” He lets you go, and brings the container over to you.

“Ooh, thanks!” your eyes light up when you open it- it's a large slice of cake, three layers, with thick cream in between each layer, and dark icing on top. All of it chocolate, with swirls of whipped cream and chocolate chips dotting the top.

You get a fork and start eating as they open up their laptops, and look over the cards you picked up. You feed each of them some cake, since it's so rich that you can't eat the whole thing.

You describe each of the stores and tell the guys about the people that worked in each one, and what you talked about. Dean suggests that you write it all down, and you grab one of your notebooks out of your backpack and start writing.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

_The last bell rang and the fourth graders lined up to wait for their rides. I heard the distinct rumble of the engine, and then the sleek black car pulled to the curb. I stepped forward as the teacher called, “Winchester”. I hurried down the walkway to the Impala._

_I opened the back door and climbed in. “Hi, Uncle Dean!” I greeted him._

_He turned back, a smile lighting his face. “Hey, princess, how was your day?”_

_“It was okay. I'm glad it's Friday!” I pulled my backpack off my shoulders and set it next to me, and then pulled the seatbelt over my lap and buckled it._

_“Me too. All set?”_

_“Yep.”_

_He faced front and put the car in gear. “What are we gonna do this weekend?” he asked._

_“I dunno...can we go to the zoo?”_

_“Hmm, that's a thought. We'll have to ask your dad what he wants to do, and check the weather.”_

_He turned the car into the driveway and I unbuckled and got out, pulling my backpack onto one shoulder._

_When we walked in, my Dad was standing in the living room, his laptop bag on the end of the sofa, with a stack of papers and envelopes in his hand._

_“Hi, Dad!” I said happily, walking towards him._

_He looked up from the papers he was studying, and his hazel eyes were dark and serious. He didn't smile back at me, and I stopped walking._

_“I got a phone call today from your school,” he said in a deep voice. “Anything you want to tell me?”_

_I felt nervous. “Umm--”_

_“It was from the Vice Principal. She wanted to know why the two letters that were sent home hadn't been signed and returned. I had no idea what she was talking about.”_

_I gulped, and glanced over at Uncle Dean, who was now looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Letters home?” he asked._

_Dad looked at Uncle Dean. “It seems that there's been a substitute teacher in class for the past two weeks, and a group of kids has taken it upon themselves to give the sub a hard time. Not listening, being disruptive, refusing to do work, just raising all kinds of hell.” He folded his arms on his chest._

_My stomach twisted and my mouth went dry. Crap, I had been found out! I looked up at my Dad and my Uncle, who both had identical angry looks on their faces now._

_“And was y/n one of them?” Uncle Dean asked._

_“Why don't you answer that question, little girl,” Dad said._

_“I, uh--” I stuttered._

_“It's a yes or no question,” Dad's voice was hard now._

_“Um...yeah, y-yes sir,” I felt my face get hot and I looked down at the floor._

_My Dad set his papers down and took my backpack off my shoulder, setting it on the coffee table so he could unzip it. “This is a mess,” he commented as he rifled through it, “How can you find anything in here?” He pulled out a crumpled pile of papers and began to sort through them. He extracted one, scanned it quickly, and then handed it to Uncle Dean._

_Uncle Dean murmured to himself as he read the letter, and then read out loud, “--has been openly defiant in class, refusing to do what the teacher tells her. She argues and is impudent, trying to make the class laugh on purpose. She has refused to complete assignments and take two tests, instead spending the time drawing or reading.”_

_He looked up from the paper and glared at me. “What the hell is this, little girl?” his voice was that low pitch that he got when he was angry, and my stomach clenched even further._

_My Dad had another piece of paper, and he read aloud from it. “Five incomplete assignments. Two incomplete tests, which equals two zeros. Three failed quizzes.” He lowered the paper, and glared at me also. “Your class grade is now a D, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_“Um, well--” I hesitated, trying to think up something to explain it all away._

_“What is going on with you?” Uncle Dean asked angrily._

_Tears filled my eyes. “I—I dunno!” I wailed suddenly._

_“You know that I don't accept that as an answer,” my Dad said, “I want to know what's been going through your head all this time.”_

_“I—I--” I took a deep breath. “The class—some of the kids-- they decided to start bein' bad, and I just-- I just-- they made it seem fun, all the kids were laughin', and it was real funny at first, and I—I just kinda...did it too.”_

_“So your classmates decided to misbehave, and you went along with it.” Uncle Dean clarified._

_I nodded miserably._

_“This is unacceptable,” my Dad said, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. I knew I was in for it then. “Completely unacceptable. I am so--” he shook his head. “You are is so much trouble, little girl.” he sighed angrily and pointed. “Go and stand in the corner.”_

_“But Da-”_

_“Did you hear me? GO!” he shouted, and I turned and hurried over to the corner, my nervousness increasing. I usually had to go stand in the corner before a spanking. It was so that I could 'think about what I'd done' but sometimes Dad said it was to give him time to cool off. I think that now was one of those cool-off times for him. He and my Uncle Seemed really angry. And I had really done it this time._

_I heard them walk into the kitchen and talk quietly for several minutes. Then I heard footsteps leaving the room, and then a couple minutes later I heard footsteps coming back._

_I heard the springs in the sofa cushions squeak as someone sat down._

_“Come here.”_

_I felt a pang in my stomach and turned. My Dad was sitting on the sofa, and as I walked over I saw the wooden hair brush sitting on the coffee table. My nervousness increased._

_“Jeans and underwear off,” he said in a clipped voice._

_Crud! Usually I got a spanking over my clothes, and sometimes my bottom was bared if I'd really misbehaved. Starting with a bare bottom meant that this was going to suck._

_I looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes, not wanting to accept my fate. “Daaad,” I pleaded softly._

_“If I have to take your jeans down, you're going to get more,” his voice was firm._

_I heeled off my shoes first. With shaking hands I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pushing them down my legs and stepping out of them. I placed them on the sofa, and then looked at him. He nodded. I slid my panties down off my butt and then stepped out of them as well and put them on top of my jeans._

_He straightened up and gestured to his thighs. “Over my knee.”_

_Tears came to my eyes as I realized that there was no way of getting out of this._

_I stepped forward, and then bent myself over his lap. I felt his hands on my sides, moving my body forward so that my feet came off the floor. My head was next to his shin and I wrapped my arm around his leg. He laid his hand on my back and I was very conscious of the fact that my bottom and legs were bare. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach._

_“Now, let's talk about why we're here,” he said._

_I hated this part, The Talk. It was hard to concentrate on talking about what I had done when I was so aware of my butt in the air and that it was going to get spanked soon. Dad said that this was a good way to focus attention._

_When I didn't respond he said, “Why are you getting this spanking?”_

_“Uh, be—because I--” I squirmed with embarrassment, “I was bad in class...”_

_“What did you do?”_

_Geez, I hated when he made me go over every single detail. “I didn't listen to the teacher...I didn't do my work or take tests I was s'posed to take...I was mean and rude to her...”_

_“Uh-huh. And what were you supposed to do?”_

_“I was s'posed to be good.”_

_“Well, besides that. You got some letters sent home.”_

_“Oh. Yeah. I—I got two letters sent home about—about my be-behavior an' I was s'posed to get 'em signed and...and I didn't.”_

_“So that's lying...a lie of omission, isn't it?”_

_“Um...yeah,” I cringed, feeling ashamed. My Dad and my uncle hated lying, and lying was punished harshly in our house._

_“Well, you've earned yourself quite a spanking, little girl. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I start?”_

_My stomach twisted with nervous anticipation. “I—I—m'sorry!” I blurted. “M'sorry I was bad!”_

_“And you're going to be even sorrier when I'm done with you,” I felt his hand grip my side._

_I whimpered, tears filling my eyes again._

_And then his hard palm fell on my bare bottom, and I flinched from the loud smack and the pain._

_He spanked slowly, with a brief pause between each swat, giving the sting time to bloom on my cheek. I tried to stay quiet, and not cry, but every once in a while, a whimper would sneak out._

_And then, when he'd covered every inch of my bottom with swats, he started over at the crest, this time spanking faster, and harder, just the slightest pause between each blow. By this time I was squirming and trying to move my butt out of the line of fire. The tears had started to fall, dripping down my face and landing in my hair, and I was making little pained noises._

_He tilted me forward slightly, and then moved his legs so that my rear end was higher up in the air, and I braced myself for what was coming._

_I gasped as the swats rained down, and then cried out as his hand began to pepper the crease right where my butt turns into my thighs. My behind was on fire._

_“Owww Daddy please!” I wailed, kicking my legs now, “I'm sorry! I'll be good, I'll be good!”_

_“You'd better be good, after I'm finished spanking your butt.” he growled, “Be still!”_

_He began to spank the tops of my thighs, and I shrieked. “Pleeeease no more! It huuuuuurts!” I wailed._

_“Of course it hurts. It's supposed to hurt, you've been a very bad girl, and you've earned every swat of this punishment.”_

_“Daddy I'm sorryyyyyy!” I hated hearing him scold me and tell me I was bad. I was sobbing aloud by now, my chest heaving._

_Finally he stopped. “I'm very disappointed in your behavior,” he said sternly, “I expect better from you._

_“M' sorry,” I sobbed._

_“There is no reason you should be misbehaving like that, and I don't want it to happen again, is that clear?”_

_“Y-yes s-sir,” my breath hitched in my chest._

_“Now, what are you going to do to make sure you don't end up here again?” he asked._

_I thought wildly, trying to concentrate on what he wanted me to say. My burning bottom distracted me._

_“I—I--I'll be good,” I said hoping that was enough._

_“How will you be good?”_

_“I—I--I w-won't be bad, I'll listen and do all my work, an' I w-won't be sassy or mean...I'll do what the teachers says...”_

_“That's right. Because you know what you'll get if you misbehave again, don't you?”_

_“Y-yes sir.”_

_“I'm going to give you something to think about, to help you remember this next time you want to do the wrong thing.” He leaned forward, and I heard him pick up the brush._

_I knew that begging wouldn't change anything, but the words burst out of my mouth anyway, “Please, no, Daddy, no hairbrush, I'll be good!”_

_“Yes, you will,” he said simply, “and this will help you remember.”_

_I cringed into his lap, dreading the next part. This was to make sure I got the point of the punishment, to give me a reminder every time I sat down for a while._

_He shifted me again, and I felt his arm across my back, pressing down. He placed the cool, hard wood on my scorching cheek for a moment. And then the hair brush landed on my bottom, and I forgot everything else except that._

_A hairbrush spanking is one thing, it's harsh and painful. But a hairbrush spanking on an already spanked bottom is almost too much. I was kicking and crying and howling before he'd was even halfway done._

_The hard wood briskly paddled the undercurve and crease and I wailed in agony as my butt lit up on fire. These swats were always the hardest and it meant it was almost over._

_A couple of swats to the top of each thigh, and then he leaned over again._

_He let me lay there across his lap for a few minutes, until my sobbing had calmed some._

_Then he stood me up. I wanted him to take me in his arms, but I knew it wasn't over yet._  
_“In the corner,” he said, turning me._

_“Daddy--”_

_He spanked my reddened butt once, and I winced. “Did you hear me?” he asked firmly._

_“Y-yes sir,” I turned and hurried over to the corner. I didn't want to end up over his knee again. There had been times that that had happened, and I didn't want it to happen this time. I'd have no butt left._

_I faced the walls, feeling my chest hitching and the throbbing in my bottom. The air in the room felt cool against my burning skin. I really regretted how I'd behaved the past couple of weeks, and not just because I'd just been punished. I was a good kid, and somehow I'd gotten swept up in the behavior of my classmates, who had made it seem like they were having so much fun. I'd ignored the anry face of the substitute teacher, no caring how she'd felt, instead feeling good when I made my classmates laugh._

_And now I felt absolutely horrible about the way I had acted. I was one of those kids who did the right thing, who always did all their work and helped the teacher out and got excellent grades. This wasn't me. And I was never going to act like this again._

_“Come here, y/n,” My Dad called me out of the corner again, and I turned, and ran over to him._

_He was still sitting on the sofa, and I flung myself into his arms, sobbing anew. He lifted me up into his lap, mindful of my sore bottom, and held me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his flannel shirt, bawling my eyes out now._

_“Sorry I was ba—aaad! I'll nuh-never be th-that wuh-way again!” I wailed._

_“Shh, all right. It's all over, and you've been punished. Shh, Bunny, it's okay. You're my good girl,” he leaned his head down and nuzzled my hair, “Aren't you?”_

_I looked up at him. “Y-yes Daddy. I'm s-sorry.”_

_“Shh, okay.” He put his hand on my back and rubbed my shoulders comfortingly. I snuggled into him and we sat that way for several minutes._

_Eventually Uncle Dean came into the room. “Are we going to go out to eat?” he asked._

_My Dad looked down at me. “You want to?”_

_I sat up, sniffling, and wiped my face. “Yeah. Where are we gonna go?”_

_“Hmm, I thought we could to go Teatro Pizza,” Uncle Dean said with a grin. He knew I loved it there._

_“Can we? Please?” I begged, looking up at my Dad._

_“Well, all right,” he replied with a grin._

_I got off of his lap and put my panties and jeans on and slipped my shoes back onto my feet._

_The restaurant was just starting to get busy._

_“You're just in time, they need a couple more kids,” the waitress said._

_I slid out of the booth and followed her into the kitchen. The main draw of the restaurant was that it had big picture windows on one side of the kitchen, and you could watch the chefs making your pizza. One the weekends, they allowed kids to come into the kitchen and help. We ate there often enough that the staff knew us, and allowed me into the kitchen whenever I wanted._

_I put on the apron that the waitress handed me, and then placed a paper hat on my head. I washed my hands at the sink after rolling up my sleeves, and then went over to the long table where other kids were standing._

_Chef Angelo looked at me and smiled. “Ciao, principessa.”_

_I blushed. He calls me that because he heard Uncle Dean call me princess before. “Ciao, Chef Angelo,” I replied._

_He explained what we were going to do, walking behind us and dumping a small amount of flour in front of each kid. We spread the flour out and dusted our hands, and then another chef placed a ball of pizza dough in front of us. They showed us how to knead the dough, stretching and pulling on it, and then Chef Angelo tossed his up in the air and caught it. They watched the other kids and helped them, but they didn't have to with me. I'd been here before and knew what I was doing._

_I looked up at the window- several parents had come over to watch their kids, and I saw my Dad and Uncle. I gave them a litte wave, and they smiled at me and waved. Uncle Dean winked at me and then held his phone up, taking pictures. After everyone finished making their family's pizzas, we washed our hands and were escorted back out to the restaurant. I listened to my Dad and Uncle talking about their day as we waited for our food._

_We got home late, so I had to go straight to bed. After I had changed into my pajamas and brushed my teeth, I walked out to the living room. “I'm ready for bed.”_

_Uncle Dean sat up and opened his arms, and he hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Good night, love you sweetheart.”_

_My Dad stood up. “I'll come tuck you in.” He walked behind me as I went to my room and climbed into bed._

_He sat down on the edge and I hugged him. “You did really well tonight, they're going to have to hire you to work there,” he joked, putting his arms around me._

_“I'm sorry I was bad at school, Dad,” I said._

_“I know. You were punished for it, and you're not going to do it again, right?”_

_“No sir.”_

_“Then it's all right now. You're a good girl, Bunny, and I love you. Good night,” he leaned down to drop a kiss on the top of my head._

_I got under the covers and he pulled them up. I looked at the framed photo on my bedside table like I did every night. It was of my Dad holding me in the hospital nursery. One of the nurses had knitted little caps with bunny ears on them, for all the babies that were born at that time. He had started calling me 'bunny', and the nickname stuck. When he called me that, it made me feel loved and safe._  
_“Would you stay, Daddy? And rub my back?” I asked shyly._

_“Okay,” he sat back down, and I rolled over onto my stomach. He pulled the covers down and began to rub my back slowly._

You wake up suddenly, hearing the door close. You lay in bed, mulling over what you had just dreamed. You had dreamed that you were a kid, Sam's daughter—you feel a warm rush of affection for him, recalling the security you had felt at the end. Even though he had been strict with you, you'd felt happy and loved the whole time.

You want to be with Sam now, you want to see if you could still feel that happiness you'd been feeling during the dream.

Sam is sitting on the sofa reading a small newspaper, a mug of coffee in one hand. He looks up as you approach, leaning forward to place the mug on the table.

“Hey, how are—whoa!” he exclaims as you sit in his lap and throw your arms around him. “Are you all right? What's this?” he asks.

“I, um, had a dream,” you tell him, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“What was it about?” he asks, putting his arm around you.

“Well, I was, um, you were my Dad. I mean, I was a kid, it wasn't like it is now. I was like in fourth grade.”

“Oh? And how was I, as a dad?” his voice is teasing.

“You, uh, you spanked me.” you feel embarrassed now, and hide your face, “I had misbehaved at school, there was a substitute teacher and the kids were being rude to her and raising hell, and I was one of them. And I'd also gotten bad grades.” You slide your arms around him.

“It sounds really detailed.”

“Yeah, it was. It was very vivid. Dean was there too. But you know...I didn't feel, I mean, I cried and all when you, you know, spanked me, but the main thing I felt was love, and like, security.”

“Well, that's good,” he tightens his arms around you.

“You also...” now you feel shy for some reason, “You uh, you had this nickname that you called me...it was, um, 'Bunny'. Because there was a photo of me wearing a hat with bunny ears on it, that a nurse from the hospital had knitted.” you feel your face get hot.

“Wow, that is detailed!” Sam chuckles, “Bunny, huh?”

“Yeah.” You feel like you're never going to be able to look at him again.

“What do you think about that dream?” he asks.

“I really don't know,” you say honestly.

“I think that sometimes our dreams are our minds telling us something that we really want, but that we can't admit to ourselves. I know things are kinda weird right now, with our relationships, because of the case we're working, but...do you think maybe, you want to be taken care of? The way that a parent takes care of, and guides, a kid? Even if sometimes that guidance is in the form of a punishment?” Sam looks down at you.

“Uhh, I don't know. I'd have to think about it. I feel all embarrassed now.”

“Don't be. I'm glad you told me about it. I'm glad that I made you feel safe and loved, in the dream. That's important, I think that it shows that that's how you feel about me in the real world.” Sam smooths your hair back from your face.

“How do you know so much about dreams and stuff, Dr. Freud?” you joke.

“I took some psych classes in my spare time, it's always interested me.”

There's a knock on the door, and then the key in the lock, and Dean comes in, carrying a white cardboard box, the kind that comes from a bakery. He holds it up. “Fresh doughnuts,” he tells you with a grin, “Well, aren't you two all snuggled up this morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are great, comments and reviews are even better, they help keep the creative fire lit!


	10. Saturday in Town (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all...I really didn't mean for this to get away from me for so long...but as you know, life happens, other fics start calling to you...so, I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated. I keep getting bogged down by details for this fic. So I decided that I'm going to publish shorter chapters for now, so that I don't feel the pressure of having to finish a huge chapter all at once, if that makes sense. As always, a big Thank You to those of you who have left kudos, comments and reviews, keep 'em coming!   
> And big thank you hugs to Edge_of_Clairvoyance and CrazedPanda for all your help and advice!   
> ***********

You get up off of Sam's lap, and the three of you go into the kitchen and sit down at the little table.

Dean sets the box on the table and opens it as you walk over to the coffee maker. 

“Ah ah, I'll get it for you,” Sam takes your arm, “Go sit down.” 

“What?” you frown a little.

“Remember, you're going to practice doing what you're told today?” Dean reminds you.

“Oh, right,” you walk over to the table and sit down. 

Sam gets out two mugs and pours coffee for you and Dean. After he brings them to the table, he sets out the sugar bowl and gets the milk out for you. “Thanks,” you smile at him, taking his hand and squeezing it. You feel very affectionate towards him.

Dean looks into the box. “Let's see, we got chocolate covered, boston cream, plain glazed, and a couple of apple fritters. Y/n?” he looks over at you. 

“Chocolate covered, of course!” you tell him with a grin, and he gets one out and sets it on a napkin for you. 

“Oh, hey, got you somethin',” Dean says casually. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rectangular box with a hinged lid, pushing it over to you.

“Wh-what is it?” you ask, a little excited and nervous. You open it and gasp—inside are three pairs of earrings, a pair of small light blue faceted rectangles and a pair of round faceted light green stones. The third set is dark purple stone, in an oval shape.

“Wow...are those amethyst?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Yeah, ” he nods, “The green is, uh, peridot, and the other is blue topaz.”

He hands you a small paper bag. Inside of the bag is a small square of cardboard with two sets of sterling silver studs- a pair of stars made out of a filigree pattern, and Celtic knots with a small dark red stone in the middle of them. “Those are, um, handmade by an artist who lives in town,” he says, “I thought, y'know, you should have some earrings that you can wear to school, so that you don't get into trouble, y'know,” he looks embarrassed.

You get up and throw your arms around him. “Thank you so much! I love all of them, they're beautiful!” you exclaim loudly.

He hugs you back, chuckling. “Well geez, if I'd known you were gonna get this excited over a couple pairs of earrings I'd've bought you some a long time ago.”

You let go and pull back. “A couple pairs of earrings? Come on, man, it's jewelry! Every woman loves to get jewelry! And you—you went out and picked all of these out-- just for me!” You suddenly find your eyes filling with tears, and you look up at him again, overwhelmed with gratitude. “I really—I mean, thank you so much. It was really sweet of you, and I feel-- I feel like I don't, y'know, deserve it, after all the crap I pull,” you look down at this admission.

“Hey now, enough of that,” Dean pulls you into another hug, “You deserve nice things. And when you do pull any crap, we give your butt what it deserves.” He gives your rear end a little swat.

You yelp, and hug him tightly. “I'm going to wear a set today. Which ones should I wear?” 

“I think you should wear the stars,” Dean suggests.

“Okay. I want to look at them again,” you sit back down, turning the earrings to make them sparkle. 

“So what's the game plan for today?” Sam sips his coffee.

“I have an appointment with the curator of the local museum this afternoon, after lunch. I know you wanted to go to the library and check out their documents room,” Dean says to Sam.

“Yeah, and we should check out the stores that y/n went into,” Sam adds.

“I'm really curious about that herb shop,” you say. 

“It'll be another day of sight-seeing, then,” Dean looks at you, “Lots of chances for you to practice obedience.”

When he says that, you feel a little uncertain pang in your belly, and you exclaim, “I'm not a dog, you know!” 

“No, you're not, and no-one is saying that you are. But this will go a long way towards earning our trust, if you do what you're told. Understand?” 

You drop your eyes to your lap, feeling embarrassed now. “Yeah, I get it.”

“We should get this show on the road, then,” Sam pushes his chair back. 

You stand up, and then look up at Sam. “Would you-- would you wear a flannel today?” Suddenly you feel shy. 

“Sure, y/n, why?” Sam is curious.

“I just-- you guys wear those dress shirts all week, and you look good, but-- it's not the same as you wearing your flannels, and I just miss that, y'know?” 

Sam smiles at you. “I miss wearing my flannels all the time too. I'll be glad to.” 

You go over to him and throw your arms around him, remembering the feelings you had for him in your dream. You hold him tightly for a moment, wanting to re-create the secure feeling you'd had. He chuckles and hugs you back. 

Dean follows you to your room. “You're awfully huggy with Sam today.”

“I had a dream about, um, him,” you say hesitantly, “And me. I mean, we were both in it. He was my Dad, and I was a kid. And he—he was kinda strict, and he spanked me. But—I felt very secure with him, and loved.” 

“Hmm, that's interesting,” he says. 

“You were there too, you were my Uncle. And I had gotten in trouble for being bad at school, and you both were scolding me.”

“Sounds kinda like what happens now,” Dean grins. 

“Yeah, kinda. It was very vivid.” 

“Sounds like it,” Dean walks over to your closet. “What are you going to wear today?” 

You put your hand on your hips. “Are you going to pick my clothes out for me again?”

“Yeah, I am,” Dean reaches in and pulls out a dress, “Think of it this way, it's one less thing you have to decide.” He holds the dress up and looks at it.

“No-one has told me what to wear since I was a little kid!” you protest. 

Dean pulls out a second dress, holding both up and looking at them. “Don't think of it like that, that I'm telling you what to do. I'm not doing it to--take away your control, rather...to allow you to let go.”

That idea intrigues you. You step closer to him. “What do you mean, let go?”

Dean turns to fully face you. “If you let go of the idea that you have to make the decisions all the time, and let us do that for you, you can...let go, relax. Trust us and allow us to guide you.”

You step up to him and look up at his earnest face. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?” There is something alluring about the idea of giving up control and letting someone else make decisions.

Dean's eyes flick back and forth between yours, and he looks like he's going to say something. Then he stops, and blushes a little. He holds the dress in his left hand up. “I want you to wear this one today.” 

“Yes, Uncle Dean,” you reply, feeling a little thrill go through you. 

He leaves the room and you get changed and then apply some make-up and put your new earrings in. 

When you walk out to the living room, the guys are looking at Sam's laptop. They look up as you walk in. Sam shuts down his computer and closes it, and they stand up.

Sam walks over to you, looking you up and down. “Cute dress,” he comments, “That lipstick goes well with it.” 

Dean stops in front of you. “Make-up?” he asks. 

You look up at him. “Yeah, I wanted to wear some since I can only put on a little bit at school. Did I have to ask--?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, it's fine.” he smiles at you. He's wearing a brown and white flannel over a brown henley, and he looks good. 

You go up to him, rubbing your face on his flannel as you hug him again. 

He laughs as he hugs you back. “That's why you wanted me to wear a flannel, it's a tactile thing!” 

You feel yourself blushing a little bit. “What can I say, I like soft things, and when you guys wear your flannels-- it's a part of what makes you, you.” With his strong flannel arms around you, you feel like the little girl that you were in the dream, protected by him.

“Well, we ready to go?” Sam releases you, and the three of you leave the apartment. 

 

 

You're sitting in a chair at the library, waiting for the guys.

They were in the basement, in the documents room, talking to a librarian. Dean had told you to grab a chair, and steered you over to the area where there were large over-stuffed armchairs and racks of magazines. 

You've already thumbed through most of the rack next to you-- home-improvement and cooking magazines-- and you're getting a little bored. The magazine rack on the other side of you holds an array of sports magazines, but since you don't care about building your own deer stand or the newest fly-fishing rods on the market, you're not even going to bother looking at any. 

Surely Dean didn't mean that you had to sit in that chair and not get up the whole time? Even a little kid couldn't be expected to sit still like that!

You pull out your phone, and text him, “I've already read every single magazine there is, I'm going to go find something else to look at.” 

Dean texts back, “Excuse me?” 

You roll your eyes and huff. Is he expecting you to ask? You text, “May I please peruse the shelves for a tome to occupy my mind, sir?” 

He replies, “Yes, you may, little miss smart-ass, and don't roll your eyes at me. Come right back to the chair you're in when you've found a book.” 

You grin, he knows you so well that he can tell that you're rolling your eyes. You slide your phone into your purse and stand up, walking over to the non-fiction section. You start at the local history shelves, but there's not much there. 

The next aisle over is religion and spirituality, and you notice that there seem to be quite a few books on 'alternate religions' like Wicca and Paganism. More than what you'd expect in a sleepy little town like this. 

You're absorbed in looking through a large book on the history of Tarot cards-- there are several full- color pages of antique decks from previous centuries. Divination decks have always piqued your interest. 

You feel a presence behind you and look up- and suddenly, Sam in looming over you, looking concerned. 

“Oh, hi,” you look up at him. 

“Dean's been texting you, you didn't answer.” 

“Oh, my phone's in my purse, I guess I didn't hear it,” you say guiltily, glancing down at your purse, which is on the floor between your ankles. You hold the book up. “Look at these Italian Tarot cards from the 1500s, aren't they beautiful!” 

Sam takes the book out of your hand and places it on the shelf. “Let's go,” he takes your elbow. 

“I wasn't-- I want to keep looking at that!” you protest. 

He turns to you. “What were you told, hm? Were you told to roam the library and hang out in the stacks?”

You blush. “Um, no.”

“What were you told?” he repeats in a firmer tone.

“To get a book and go sit back down in that chair I was sitting in.” 

“And you didn't.” he shakes his head, and pulls on your arm. “Come on, let's go.” 

Suddenly you feel like you did in the dream, worried because Sam is angry with you. “Wait--” you pull on him and stop. “Am I-- are you mad at me?” 

He turns again and looks down at you. “Not mad, no. I was worried when you didn't answer Dean, and I'm a little disappointed that you chose to do your own thing, after we talked to you this morning about practicing obedience.” 

You swallow uneasily-- you don't like hearing that he's disappointed! Suddenly you want to do something, anything, that will make him smile and say he's proud of you. 

You take his hand. “I'm sorry, Dad, I'll be good,” The sentence gets blurted out before you know it, and you bite the inside of your cheek, because you almost called him Daddy! What the heck is going on?

“I hope so,” he says, and starts walking. 

Dean is standing outside the library, at the corner of the building, on the phone. “Yep, we'll see you there. All right, bye.” he hangs up and looks up at Sam. “The curator had to move the meeting, we're going to meet an hour later than originally planned.” he shifts his eyes to you. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” his voice is deep and no-nonsense.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Dean.” 

“I already talked to her about it,” Sam tells him. 

“I was concerned when you didn't answer my texts, and then when we came upstairs and saw the chair was empty, I got worried. Very worried.” Dean frowns at you. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking at the ground. 

“Don't let it happen again,” his voice is stern.

“No, Uncle Dean,” you say meekly. 

“Next time, you're going to be in trouble. All right, let's find somewhere that serves some grub, I'm in the mood for a burger with all the fixins.” he pockets his phone, and the three of you walk back to the car. 

Dean parks in one of the public parking lots in the middle of town, and the three of you walk down on e of the main streets, window shopping. You have your arm through each of the guy's arms, and it's nice to be walking between them like this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bait and Switch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14010612) by [CinntaxError](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinntaxError/pseuds/CinntaxError)
  * [A Brother's Discipline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439165) by [fromacloset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromacloset/pseuds/fromacloset)




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